SHELLEY MEMORIALS 



FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES. 



EDITED BY LADY SHELLEY. 



TO WHICH IS ADDED 



AN ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY, 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY: 



NOW FIRST PRINTED. 



BOSTON: 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

M.DCCC.LIX. 






^ 






RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE ! 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY. 

Gift 
W. L. Shoemaker 
1 3 '06 



/ s- 



/'*-? 



PEEFACE BY THE EDITOR. 



Had it been left entirely to the uninfluenced wishes 
of Sir Percy Shelley and myself, we should, have pre- 
ferred that the publication of the materials for a life of 
Shelley which we possess should have been postponed 
to a later period of our lives ; but as we had recently 
noticed, both in French and English magazines, many 
papers on Shelley, all taking for their text Captain 
Med win's Life of the Boet, (a book fall of errors,) and 
as other biographies had been issued, written by those 
who had no means of ascertaining the truth, we were 
anxious that the numerous misstatements which had 
gone forth should be corrected. 

For this purpose, we placed the documents in our 
possession at the disposal of a gentleman whose liter- 
ary habits and early knowledge of the poet seemed to 
point him out as the most fitting person for bringing 
them to the notice of the public. It was clearly un- 
derstood, however, that our wishes and feelings should 
be consulted in all the details. 



IV PREFACE. 

We saw the book for the first time when it was given 
to the world. It was impossible to imagine beforehand 
that from such materials a book could have been pro- 
duced which has astonished and shocked those who have 
the greatest right to form an opinion on the character 
of Shelley ; and it was # with the most painful feelings of 
dismay that we perused what we could only look upon 
as a fantastic caricature, going forth to the public with 
my apparent sanction, for it was dedicated to myself. 

Our feelings of duty to the memory of Shelley left 
us no other alternative than to withdraw the materials 
which we had originally intrusted to his early friend, 
and which we could not but consider had been strangely 
misused ; and to take upon ourselves the task of laying 
them before the public, connected only by as slight a 
thread of narrative as might make them intelligible to 
the reader. 

I have condensed as much as possible the details of 
the early period of Shelley's life, for I am aware that 
a great many of them have already appeared in print. 
The repetition of some, however, was considered advis- 
able, since it is very probable that this volume will 
be read by many who have not seen, nor are likely to 
see, any other work giving an account of the writings 
and actions of Shelley. 

I little expected that this task would devolve on me ; 
and I am fully sensible how unequal I am to its proper 
fulfilment. To give a truthful statement of long-dis- 



PREFACE. V 

torted facts, and to clear away the mist in which the 
misrepresentations of foes and professed friends have 
obscured the memory of Shelley, have been my only 
object. My labors have been greatly assisted by the 
help of an intimate and valued friend of Mr. Shelley, 
and by Mr. Edmund Oilier, whose father (the publisher 
of Shelley's works) at once freely offered me the use 
of some most interesting letters written to himself. 

It is needless to say that the authenticity of all the 
documents contained in this volume is beyond question ; 
but the public would do well to receive with the utmost 
caution all letters purporting to be by Shelley, which 
have not some indisputable warrant.* 

The art of forging letters purporting to be relics of 
men of literary celebrity, and therefore apparently pos- 
sessing a commercial value, has been brought to a rare 
perfection by those who have made Mr. Shelley's hand- 
writing the object of their imitation. Within the last 
fourteen years, on no less than three occasions, have 
forged letters been presented to our family for purchase. 
In December, 1851, Sir Percy Shelley and the late 
Mr. Moxon bought several letters, all of which proved 

* Those printed in the work to which allusion has already been 
made have never, for the most part, been seen by any other per- 
son than the author of that work; and the erasures which he has 
already made in them, together with the arrangement of their par- 
agraphs, render them of doubtful value, however authentic may be 
the originals which that gentleman asserts he possesses. 



vi PREFACE. 

to be forgeries, though, on the most careful inspection, 
we could scarcely detect any difference between these 
and the originals ; for some were exact copies of docu- 
ments in our possession. The watermark on the paper 
was generally, though not always, the mark appropriate 
to the date ; and the amount of ingenuity exercised was 
most extraordinary. Mr. Moxon published what he had 
bought in a small volume, but recalled the work shortly 
afterwards, on discovering that some of the letters had 
been manufactured from articles in magazines and re- 
views, written long after Shelley's death. 

The letter to Lord Ellenborough has never before 
been published ; but I regard it as too extraordinary 
a production for a youth of eighteen to feel myself 
justified in suppressing it. 

The fragmentary Essay on Christianity, published at 
the end of this volume, was found amongst Shelley's 
papers in the imperfect state in winch it is now pro- 
duced. 

Boscombe, March 31, 1859 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. PAGE 

I. Early Life of Shelley 9 

II. First Love : Oxford : Expulsion .... 20 

III. First Marriage 28 

IV. Acquaintance with Godwin 32 

V. Literary Correspondence: 1812 .... 47 

VI. Poetical Labors and Domestic Sorrows . 60 
VII. England and Switzerland: Judgment of 
the Lord Chancellor : the " Revolt of 

Islam" 77 

VHI. Italy: 1818 100 

IX. "Prometheus Unbound:" the " Cenci " . 121 
X. The Poet's Life at Pisa and Leghorn. . 144 

XL Shelley and Byron at Pisa 161 

XII. The Bay of Spezzia 193 

XIII. Shelley's Death and Obsequies . . . .210 

XIV. Mary Shelley 221 

Extracts from Mrs. Shelley's Private 

Journal 248 

Essay on Christianity .271^ 



SHELLEY MEMOEIALS. 



CHAPTER I. 



EARLY LIFE. 



At the close of the last century, the family of the 
Shelleys had long held a high position among the large 
landholders of Sussex. Fortunate marriages in the 
two generations preceding the birth of the poet con- 
siderably increased the wealth and influence of the 
house, the head of which in 1806 was a stanch Whig, 
and on that ground obtained a baronetcy from the 
short-lived Whig Administration of that year. Four- 
teen years previously, — viz., on the 4th of August, 
1792, — his illustrious grandson drew the first breath 
of life. Percy Bysshe Shelley was born on that 
day at Field Place, near Horsham, Sussex. He was 
the eldest son of Timothy Shelley, Esq., subsequently 
the second baronet ; and was christened Bysshe after 
his grandfather. At six years of age, the boy was 
sent to a day-school near the residence of his parents, 



10 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

and at ten left home for the seminary of Dr. Green- 
law, at Brentford, Middlesex. Here he acquired the 
dead languages, seemingly by intuition ; for, during 
school hours, he would gaze abstractedly at the pass- 
ing clouds, or would scrawl in his school-books (a 
habit which he never lost) rude drawings of pines and 
cedars, in memory of those standing on the lawn of 
his native home. 

He was regarded by his school-fellows as a strange, 
unsociable person. Never joining in their sports, he 
passed much of his leisure time in solitude, and on 
holidays would walk backwards and forwards along 
the southern wall of the playground, indulging in wild 
fancies and vague meditations. Still, though he seem- 
ingly neglected his tasks, he soon surpassed all his 
competitors ; for his memory was so tenacious that he 
never forgot what he had once learned. He was very 
fond of reading, and eagerly perused all the books 
which were brought to school after the holidays. Sto- 
ries of haunted castles, bandits, murderers, and various 
grim creations of fancy, were his favorites ; and in 
after years he began his literary life by writing simi- 
lar wild romances. When at Field Place during the 
vacations, his propensity to frolic, — always, however, 
unaccompanied by the infliction of pain on any living 
creature, — his partiality for moonlight walks, and his 
wonderfully exuberant imagination, came under the 
notice of his sister, who, in some spirited and graceful 
letters, has recorded a few of the incidents of this 
period. 



EARLY LIFE. 11 

" Bysshe," writes Miss Shelley, " would frequently 
come to the nursery, and was full of a peculiar kind 
of pranks. One piece of mischief, for which he was 
rebuked, was running a stick through the ceiling of 
a low passage, to find some new chamber which could 
be made effective for some flights of his vivid imagi- 
nation. The tales to which we have sat and listened, 
evening after evening, seated on his knee, when we 
came to the dining-room for dessert, were anticipated 
with that pleasing dread which so excites the minds 
of children, and fastens so strongly and indelibly on 
the memory. 

" There was a spacious garret under the roof of 
Field Place, and a room which had been closed for 
years, excepting an entrance made by the removal 
of a board in the garret floor. This unknown land 
was made the fancied habitation of an alchemist, old 
and gray, with a long beard. Books and a lamp, with 
all the attributes of a picturesque fancy, were poured 
into our listening ears. We were to go and see him 
' some day,' but we were content to wait ; and a cave 
was to be dug in the orchard for the accommodation 
of this Cornelius Agrippa. 

" Bysshe was certainly fond of eccentric amusements ; 
but they delighted us, as children, quite as much as if 
our minds had been naturally attuned to the same tastes ; 
for we dressed ourselves in strange costumes to per- 
sonate spirits or fiends, and Bysshe would take a 
fire-stove, and fill it with some inflammable liquid, and 
carry it flaming into the kitchen and to the back-door ; 



12 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

but discovery of this dangerous amusement soon put a 
stop to many repetitions. 

" My brother was full of pleasant attention to children, 
though his mind was so far above theirs. He had a 
wish to educate some child, and often talked seriously 
of purchasing a little girl for that purpose. A tumbler, 
who came to the back-door to display her wonderful 
feats, attracted him, and he thought she would be a 
good subject for the purpose. But all these wild fan- 
cies came to nought. He would take his pony, and 
ride about the beautiful lanes and fields surrounding 
the house, and would talk of his intention; but he did 
not consider that board and lodging would be indispen- 
sable; and this difficulty, probably, was quite sufficient 
to prevent the talk from becoming reality." 

In stature, Shelley was slightly yet elegantly formed ; 
he had deep blue eyes, of a wild, strange beauty, and 
a high white forehead, overshadowed with a quantity of 
dark brown curling hair. His complexion was very 
fair ; and, though his features were not positively hand- 
some, the expression of his countenance was one of 
exceeding sweetness and sincerity. His look of youth- 
fulness he retained to the end of his life, though his 
hair was beginning to get gray — the effect of intense 
study, and of the painful agitations of mind through 
which he had passed. 

At the age of thirteen, Shelley went to Eton, and 
there began his earnest and life-long struggle with the 
world. When he entered the college, the practice of 
fagging flourished in all its vigor under the superin- 



EARLY LIFE. 13 

tendence of Dr. Keate, the head-master. To the high- 
toned feelings of Shelley, this daily experience of un- 
happiness and tyranny was most revolting. Won by 
affection, but unconquered by blows, he was not the 
kind of youth likely to be happy at a public school. 
He refused to fag, and was treated by master and boys 
with the severity of passion and prejudice. But to all 
the devices of despotism he opposed a brave and daunt- 
less spirit. At the same time, the purity, unselfish- 
ness, and generosity of his nature gained him friends 
among his school-fellows wherever there were any cor- 
responding qualities to appreciate these signs of the 
nobility of his disposition. The power of fascination 
was, indeed, possessed by Shelley all through his exist- 
ence. 

Mr. Packe, one of his school-fellows at Eton, relates 
in a letter that the embryo poet's tutor " was one of the 
dullest men in the establishment;" that he did not 
understand his pupil in the least; that the boys made 
a point of constantly u goading Shelley into a rage," 
though they would run away, appalled, directly the 
storm they had provoked burst forth ; that their victim 
would never deign to pursue them, but would gener- 
ously assist their clulness when they came to him with 
petitions to help them in their tasks ; and that he would 
not at any time submit to the trammels of the " gradus." 
His facility in making Latin verses is described by Mr. 
Packe as wonderful; but, not being in accordance with 
rule, these compositions were generally torn up. How- 
ever, his greatest passion at Eton was for chemistry. 



14 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Often did he astonish the boys by his experiments, and 
once he accidentally set fire to some trees on the com- 
mon. At that time he lodged at the house of his tutor, 
who, on a certain day, found Shelley in his room amus- 
ing himself by the production of a blue flame. Chemi- 
cal experiments were prohibited in the boys' chambers ; 
and the tutor (Mr. Bethel) somewhat angrily asked 
what the lad was doing. Shelley jocularly replied that 
he was raising the devil. Mr. Bethel seized hold of a 
mysterious implement on the table, and in an instant 
was thrown against the wall, having grasped a highly- 
charged electrical machine. Of course, the young ex- 
perimentalist paid dearly for this unfortunate occurrence. 

"Among my latest recollections of Shelley's life at 
Eton," concludes Mr. Packe, "is the publication of 
Zastrozzi* for which I think he received 40/. With 
part of the proceeds he gave a most magnificent banquet 
to eight of his friends, among whom I was included. 
I cannot now call to mind the names of the other 
guests, excepting those of two or three who are not 
now living. Shelley was too peculiar in his genius and 
his habits to be ' the hare with many friends ; ' but the 
few who knew him loved him, and, if I may judge from 
myself, remember with affectionate regret that his school- 
days were more adventurous than happy." 

His opposition to fagging was not without some good 
effect for the time. He formed a conspiracy against 
the system, and succeeded in checking it — at any rate, 

* A novel so called. 



EARLY LIFE. 15 

as far as regarded himself. But the fiery conflicts 
through which he had to pass impressed him with a 
sense of wretchedness which he afterwards described 
with passionate sweetness in the dedication of the Revolt 
of Islam : — 

" Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear friend, when first 

The clouds which wrap this world from youth did pass. 

I do remember well the hour which burst 

My spirit's sleep: a fresh May dawn it was, 

When I walk'd forth upon the glittering grass, 

And wept, I knew not why ; until there rose 

From the near school -room voices that, alas ! 

Were but one echo from a world of woes — 
The harsh and grating strife of tyrants and of foes. 

"And then I clasp'd my hands, arid look'd around; 

But none was near to mock my streaming eyes, 

Which pour'd their warm drops on the sunny ground: 

So, without shame, I spake : — 'I will be wise, 

And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies 

Such power ; for I grow weary to behold 

The selfish and the strong still tyrannize 

Without reproach or check.' I then control? d 
My tears ; my heart grew calm ; and I was meek and bold. 

" And from that hour did I, with earnest thought, 

Heap knowledge from forbidden mines of lore : 

Yet nothing that my tyrants knew or taught 

I cared to learn; but from that secret store 

Wrought linked armor for my soul, before 

It might walk forth, to war among mankind. 

Thus, power and hope were strengthen' d more and more 

Within me, till there came upon my mind 
A sense of loneliness, a thirst with which I pined." 

The agony which Shelley thus endured, for the very 



16 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

reason that he was more outspoken and truth-loving than 
other boys, is only one out of many painful examples of 
the frequent unfitness of schoolmasters and tutors for 
the duty which they seek to execute. However, we 
have improved since the early part of the present cen- 
tury ; for those were the days when coercion was looked 
on as. the only principle of school government, and 
when kindness was regarded as sentimentalism. With 
one exception, Shelley found his tutors men of rough, 
passionate, and hard natures, who claimed obedience 
merely because they possessed authority, without show- 
ing that they had any right to exercise their power by 
reason of superior discretion and serener wisdom; men 
who answered inquiries by cuffs, who sought to tame 
independence by violence, who exasperated the eccen- 
tricities of a wild but generous nature by the opposi- 
tion of their own coarser minds, and who made religion 
distasteful by confounding it with dogmatism, and learn- 
ing repulsive by allying it with pedantic formality. 
Had these instructors possessed half as much knowl- 
edge of human nature as of Greek roots and Latin 
" quantities," they might have developed and guided 
the mind of Shelley ; but they thought not of this, 
and therefore only irritated a sensitive and ardent 
disposition. 

The one exception to this narrow and unfortunate 
rule was Dr. Lind, an erudite scholar and amiable old 
man, much devoted to chemistry, at whose house Shel- 
ley passed the happiest of his Eton hours. He was a 
physician, and also one of the tutors. Mrs. Shelley 



EARLY LIFE. 17 

relates that the Doctor often stood by to befriend and 
support the persecuted boy, and that her husband never, 
in after life, mentioned his name without love and ven- 
eration. The poet has introduced him into the Revolt 
of Islam, as the old hermit who liberates Laon from 
prison, and attends on him in sickness ; and into Prince 
Athanase, as the wise and benignant Zonoras. In the 
former poem, (Canto IV.), he speaks of the hermit's 
heart having grown old without being corrupted, and 
adds : — 

" That hoary man had spent his livelong age 
In converse with the dead, who leave the stamp 
Of ever-burning thoughts on many a page 
When they are gone into the senseless damp 
Of graves. His spirit thus became a lamp 
Of splendor, like to those on which it fed. 
Through peopled haunts, the city and the camp, 
Deep thirst for knowledge had his footsteps led, 

And all the ways of men among mankind he read. 

" But custom maketh blind and obdurate 
The loftiest hearts. He had beheld the woe 
In which mankind was bound, but deem'd that fate, 
Which made them abject, would preserve them so." 

For his strange pupil, whose scientific studies he 
directed, and whose pleasures he was eager to promote, 
Dr. Lind entertained a warm affection. When Shelley 
was seized with a dangerous fever, he hurried at a 
moment's notice to Field Place, and by his skill, and 
the soothing influence of his presence, saved his young 
friend from pressing danger. The incident in the Revolt 



18 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

of Islam is, therefore, a fact. The Doctor's kindness 
made on Shelley a deep and lasting impression ; the 
more so as, from the indiscreet gossip of a servant, who 
had overheard some conversation between his father and 
the village doctor, Bysshe had come to the conviction 
that it was intended to remove him from the house to 
some distant asylum. 

Shelley also felt an affectionate regard for his rela- 
tions, particularly for his mother and sisters ; and I have 
heard his eldest surviving sister relate that, during a 
supposed dangerous attack of gout under which his 
father was suffering, Bysshe would creep noiselessly to 
his room door, to watch and listen with tender anxiety. 

The chemical experiments which the young student 
eagerly pursued at Eton were not discontinued when he 
was at home. His little sisters' frocks were often found 
stained with caustic ; and Miss Shelley states in one of 
her letters : — "I confess my pleasure was entirely nega- 
tived by terror at the effects. Whenever he came to me 
with his piece of brown paper under his arm, and a bit 
of wire and a bottle (if I remember right), my heart 
would beat with fear at his approach ; but shame kept 
me silent, and, with as many others as we could collect, 
we were placed hand in hand round the nursery table to 
be electrified; but when a suggestion was made that 
chilblains were to be cured by this means, my terror 
overwhelmed all other feelings, and the expression of it 
released me from all future annoyance. His own hands 
and clothes were constantly stained and corroded with 
acids, and it only seemed too probable that some day the 



EARLY LIFE. 19 

house would be burnt down, or some serious mischief 
happen to himself or others from the explosion of com- 
bustibles. He used afterwards to speak himself with 
horror of having once swallowed by accident some 
arsenic at Eton, and feared he should never entirely re- 
cover from the shock it had inflicted on his constitution." 
The boy Shelley now passes from our sight, and in 
the next chapter we shall have to speak of the poet in 
the first dawn of manhood. 



20 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER II. 

Shelley's first love: oxford: expulsion. 

In 1809, Shelley left Eton and returned home ; and, 
being now of an age when it is not uncommon for people 
to have some touch of romance in them — a tendency 
which in him was developed to an unusual degree — his 
delight was to steal from the house, and to wander about 
by moonlight. His sister remarks that " the prosaic 
minds of ordinary mortals could not understand the 
pleasure to be derived from contemplating the stars, 
when he, probably, was repeating to himself lines which 
were soon to astonish those who looked upon him as a 
boy. The old servant of the family would follow him, 
and say that ' Master Bysshe only took a walk, and came 
back again.' " But (as in Mrs. Barbauld's excellent 
story of Eyes and no Eyes) the walk of one individual 
along a given road may be as different from that of 
another along the same path as a plenum is different 
from a vacuum. While the old servant, probably, saw 
little but the dust, and the monotonous hedges, and the 
figure of his young master walking on before, the unde- 
veloped poet saw the infinite beauty of Nature spreading 
out in all its vastness and its minuteness, and was busied 



shelley's first love. 21 

with speculations which gave an additional and still more 
solemn splendor to the mysterious loveliness of the 
world. 

It was in the summer of this year that Bysshe fell des- 
perately in love with his cousin, Harriet Grove, who, 
with her brother, was on a visit to Field Place. Eliza- 
beth Shelley, who was then at home, always made one 
of the party in their moonlight strolls through the groves 
of Strood and the beautiful scenery of St. Leonard's ; 
at which time the young lover had just reason to sup- 
pose that his attachment had met with sympathy. The 
whole party, with Bysshe's mother, went from Sussex 
to Mr. Grove's house in London ; and the presence of 
the parents, inasmuch as it appeared to sanction the 
daily intercourse between the young couple, carried to 
Bysshe's mind a well-grounded expectation that his ar- 
dent affections and wandering sympathies had found at 
last a resting-place and a home. It was not, however, 
so to be. In the letters which passed between them 
after Miss Harriet Grove had returned to Wiltshire, 
the speculative doubts which were expressed on serious 
subjects alarmed the parents of the young lady for the 
future welfare of their daughter ; and, on Shelley being 
expelled from Oxford, all intimacy was broken off, and 
Miss Grove soon made another choice. The blow fell 
on Bysshe with cruel force. 

Shelley went to Oxford in 1810, in which year he 
became an undergraduate of University College. His 
secluded habits, and the ardor with which he threw all 
the energies of his mind into the acquisition of knowl- 



22 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

edge, were gratified by the customs and opportunities 
which he found when entering on this new mode of life. 
The forms of study at Oxford, then as now, were well 
adapted to exercise a beneficial influence on a mind 
somewhat prone, at the time, to mysticism, and to the 
neglect of practical results ; and it must therefore be 
forever regretted that Shelley's academical career termi- 
nated so early. 

Notwithstanding the extremely spiritual and romantic 
character of his genius, he applied himself to logic with 
ardor and success, and of course brought it to bear on 
all subjects, including theology. With his habitual dis- 
regard of consequences, he hastily wrote a pamphlet, in 
which the defective logic of the usual arguments in favor 
of the existence of a God was set forth ; this he circu- 
lated among the authorities and members of his college. 
In point of fact, the pamphlet did not contain any posi- 
tive assertion; it was merely a challenge to discussion, 
beginning with certain axioms, and finishing with a 
Q. E. D. The publication (consisting of only two pages) 
seemed rather to imply, on the part of the writer, a de- 
sire to obtain better reasoning on the side of the com- 
monly received opinion, than any wish to overthrow with 
sudden violence the grounds of men's belief. In any 
case, however, had the heads of the college been men of 
candid and broad intellects, they would have recognized 
in the author of the obnoxious pamphlet an earnest love 
of truth, a noble passion for arriving at the nature of 
things, however painful the road. They might at least 
have sought, by argument and remonstrance, to set him 



shelley's first love. 23 

in what they conceived to be the right path ; but either 
they had not the courage and the regard for truth neees- 
sary for such a course, or they were themselves the 
victims of a narrow education. At any rate, for this 
exercise of scholastic ingenuity, Shelley was expelled. 
A college friend of the poet (Mr. Hogg) shared the 
same fate for supporting his cause. 

Mr. Hogg was the son of a gentleman in the north of 
England, whose acquaintance Shelley had made on his 
first arrival at Oxford, by sitting accidentally next to 
him at the hall dinner. To reason on any subject, at 
any time, with any one, was to Shelley an irresistible 
temptation. Discussion, and the clash of argument with 
another, by which he strove to render his own perception 
of any subject more clear and defined, delighted him. 
In Mr. Hogg he found a companion acute enough to be 
a worthy antagonist, and one who was always ready to 
place himself at his disposal for the combat of words. 
The two friends were inseparable. The bonds of sym- 
pathy ^between them were their literary tastes and their 
intellectual activity ; and accordingly they walked, dined, 
and supped together, always discussing. 

On Shelley receiving the sentence of expulsion, which 
was ready drawn up in due form, under the seal of the 
college, as if the act had been resolved on previously, he 
immediately withdrew, and ran, in a state of painful 
agitation, to Mr. Hogg's rooms. His friend, with a 
generosity not uncommon in youth, though too seldom 
retained in later life, speedily wrote a letter, remon- 
strating with the authorities for their act. He was at 



24 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

once sent for, and, after similar angry and ill-mannered 
questioning to that which had been pursued in Shelley's 
case, was sentenced to the same honorable expulsion al- 
ready pronounced against his companion. 

This unhappy event took place on Lady-Day, 1811. 
The friends quitted Oxford next morning for London. 

So far as I can gather from some scanty records, I 
am inclined to think that, at this time, Shelley's father 
would have been satisfied with some very slight conces- 
sions on his son's part — in fact, with his promising a 
merely formal compliance with the ceremonies observed 
in most households. But, had he asked his native 
stream, the Arun, to run up to its source, he would 
have had as great a chance of obtaining his desire. 
Exasperated by his son's refusal to conform to the 
orthodox belief, he forbade him to appear at Field Place. 
On the sensitively affectionate feelings of the young con- 
troversialist and poet, this sentence of exclusion from his 
boyhood's home inflicted a bitter pang ; yet he was de- 
termined to bear it, for the sake of what he believed to 
be right and true. 

Conscious of high intellectual power, and of unsullied 
moral purity, he had been persecuted at Eton for the 
resistance he always offered to despotism. From Ox- 
ford he had been expelled, with great injustice, for a 
pamphlet which, if it had been given as a translation 
of the work of some old Greek, would have been re- 
garded as a model of subtle metaphysical reasoning. 
He was excluded from his father's house for acting in 
accordance with the dictates of his conscience ; and he 



shelley's first love. 25 

found himself separated from the society of his equals 
in rank by his shyness, his sensitiveness, and his ascetic 
habits. Among his few acquaintances at this time whose 
names are known, there was not one who had the slight- 
est affinity with him ; and it is not easy to conceive a 
greater loneliness of the heart, than that which he now 
experienced. Feeling himself thus isolated, his natu- 
rally high spirit rose higher still ; and the young warrior 
for truth went forth into the world alone, but full of 
ardor. And it should be recollected that he made this 
sacrifice out of a purely abstract and intellectual love 
of truth ; for to all sensual pleasures Shelley was a 
stranger. His usual food was bread, sometimes sea- 
soned with a few raisins ; his beverage was generally 
water ; if he drank tea or coffee, he would take no 
sugar with it, because the produce of the cane was then 
obtained by slave labor ; and the unanimous voice of 
those who knew him acquits him of any participation 
in the lax habits of life too common among young men. 
Yet, when less than nineteen, "fragile in health and 
frame ; of the purest habits in morals ; full of devoted 
generosity and universal kindness ; glowing with ardor 
to attain wisdom ; resolved, at every personal sacri- 
fice, to do right ; burning with a desire for affection 
and sympathy, — he was treated as a reprobate, cast forth 
as a criminal." * 

On the other hand, the conduct of his father is sus- 
ceptible of some excuse. Let those who utterly condemn 
him ask themselves how they would like the presence in 
* Mrs. Shelley. 



26 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

their houses of a disciple of Spinoza or of Calvin, whose 
enthusiasm never wanes, and whose voice is seldom silent ; 
who, with the eloquence of conviction, obtrudes his doc- 
trines at all times ; who seeks the youngest daughter in 
the school-room, and the butler in his pantry, to make 
them converts, in the one case, to the moral excellence 
of materialism, — in the other, to the aesthetic comforts 
of eternal punishment by election ; and, if they can con- 
scientiously say they would like it, they may condemn 
the elder Mr. Shelley ; but not unless. Still, it is to be 
regretted that a milder course w r as not pursued towards 
one who was peculiarly open to the teachings of love. 

In the present day, when a brighter morn seems 
breaking on the future ; when another spirit is breathing 
over us ; when vengeance is departing from our laws, 
and love is gradually creeping in ; when freedom of in- 
quiry is becoming at once a social and a legal right ; 
when the fierce voices of hatred, which burst in Shelley's 
time on the man bold enough to question the received 
notions of Church and State orthodoxy, have ceased, or 
are faintly heard ; when a protecting hand is extended 
over the toil of women and children ; when the claims 
of the uninstructed to their share of education are cord- 
ially admitted ; when there is a growing conviction that 
all the inhabitants of the earth, whatever may be their 
creed, their color, or their clime, should enjoy a fair por- 
tion of the gifts of God, and that the chief duty of all is 
to gird themselves, as in one common brotherhood, for 
the struggle with the many moral and physical evils 
which are interwoven with our existence, — it is not dim- 



shelley's first love. 27 

cult to understand the throbbing interest with which, in 
the distant colony and in the crowded street at home, the 
many turn to the Memorials of the life of him who, self- 
inspired and self-impelled, from the earliest dawn of 
manhood to his day of death, shrank from no sacrifice 
in his devotion to the cause of human welfare. 



28 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER III. 

shelley's first marriage. 

Up to the present period of Shelley's life, there has 
been little to chronicle with respect to his progress as an 
author. While at Oxford, he had published, in conjunc- 
tion with Mr. Hogg, a little volume of burlesque verses, 
and, at a yet earlier date, when still at home, he had 
written a great many wild romances in prose, some of 
which have been printed, though they have never taken 
any place in literature, and are, in fact, the crude produc- 
tions of an enthusiastic boy. It was not, however, till he 
had been drawn into the conflict of existence that he be- 
gan that expression of his inner nature in immortal verse 
which has since astonished the world. But we must yet 
for a while follow the course of his private life. 

Discarded by his father, Shelley was now left in a 
state of considerable pecuniary embarrassment, though 
this did not prevent his performing acts of munificence 
whenever he had any money at command. At one time 
he pawned his favorite solar microscope in order to re- 
lieve an urgent case of distress. He took lodgings in 
Poland Street, but was often without the means of meet- 
ing the current expenses of the day. His sisters, who 



shelley's first marriage. 29 

were aware of this, saved their pocket-money, and, from 
time to time, sent secretly to their brother the fruits of 
their loving economy. This was the origin of a new 
phase in Shelley's existence. The Miss Shelleys were 
at that period at school at Brompton, and among the 
pupils was a very handsome girl named Harriet West- 
brook. To her (as her parents resided in London) was 
consigned the task of conveying the little sums of money 
to Shelley, on whose susceptible fancy she dawned as a 
celestial being, illumining the dingy lodgings he in- 
habited. During the young lady's holidays, Shelley was 
a constant and welcome visitor at the house of her father ; 
and, on Harriet's recovery from a slight indisposition, the 
young poet was chosen to escort her back to school. 
About the same time, he went for a few days to Field 
Place, and during this visit came to an amicable arrange- 
ment with his father. In consideration of a new settle- 
ment of the property, Sir Timothy agreed to make him 
an allowance of 200/. a year, and his son was to be at 
liberty to live where he pleased. 

On leaving Field Place, he went to his cousin, Mr. T. 
Grove, who resided at a country house near Rhayader, 
in Radnorshire ; whence, summoned by the pressing ap- 
peals of the Miss Westbrooks, he hastily returned to 
London, and eloped with Harriet. 

From Shelley's own account, and from other sources 
of information which have since transpired, this unfort- 
unate marriage seems to have been thus brought about : 

To the wild eloquence of the enthusiast, who claimed 
it as his mission to regenerate the world, and to give it 



30 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

freedom from the shackles which had been too long en- 
dured, and which barred its progress to indefinite perfec- 
tibility, Harriet had in their many interviews in London 
bent a well-pleased ear ; and when the day came for her 
return to her Brompton seminary, these new lights 
seemed to her mind to have a practical bearing on the 
forms and discipline of her boarding-school. She there- 
fore petitioned her father to be allowed to remain at home. 
On his refusal, she wrote to Shelley ; and, in a sad and 
evil hour for both, this girl, " who had thrown herself 
upon his protection," and " with whom he was not in 
love," * became his wife. 

From London, the young pair (whose united ages 
amounted to thirty-five years, Harriet being sixteen, and 
Shelley nineteen) went to Edinburgh, and thence to 
York. During their residence in the latter town, a new 
inmate was added to their circle in the person of the 
elder Miss Westbrook — a visitor whose presence was in 
many respects unfortunate. From strength of character 
and disparity of years (for she was much older than Har- 
riet), she exercised a strong influence over her sister; 
and this influence was used without much discretion, and 
with little inclination to smooth the difficulties or promote 
the happiness of the young couple. 

Keswick was the next resting-place to which the Shel- 
leys were tempted by the beauty of the scenery and the 
cheapness of the necessaries of life, which gave some 
hope that their scanty income might suffice for their 

* These expressions are quoted from some published letters of 
Shelley's, the authenticity of which I am not able to guarantee. 



shelley's first marriage. 31 

moderate wants. While residing here, the then Duke of 
Norfolk, who owned a large extent of land in the neigh- 
borhood, greatly interested himself in Shelley and his 
girl wife, introduced them to the neighboring gentry, 
directed his agents to furnish their house with necessary 
accommodations, and interceded (but in vain) with the 
elder Mr. Shelley. The young poet became speedily 
acquainted with Robert Southey, Thomas De Quincey, 
and other eminent writers then resident in the north. 
With Southey he was particularly intimate for a time, 
despite the diametrical opposition of their creeds. It 
was in the year 1811, also — but previous to his marriage 
— - that Shelley sought and obtained the friendship of 
Leigh Hunt, whose noble-spirited political writings in 
the Examiner had moved the highest admiration of the 
youthful enthusiast. While the latter was yet unknown 
to the journalist, he had proposed to him, in a letter, a 
scheme for forming an association of Liberals, with a 
view to resisting the spread of despotic principles ; and 
this was followed by Shelley's self-introduction. The 
friendship of the two writers was only broken by death. 



32 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER IV. 

shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 

We now come to that period of Shelley's life when the 
poet became acquainted with William Godwin — a period 
fraught with important results, and one over which it 
will be necessary to linger. 

An eminent place among the writers of the eighteenth 
century is due to the author of Political Justice. He 
came of a family which had long been connected with 
the Nonconformist ministry; for both his father and 
grandfather were Dissenting preachers in their genera- 
tion, and the grandfather had enjoyed the intimate friend- 
ship of Dr. Watts, Neale, and Baker. William Godwin 
was born at Questwich, Norfolk, in 1756. He was 
educated at the Hoxton College by Dr. Kippis and Dr. 
Rees, and for some time followed the profession of his 
father at Stowmarket, Suffolk ; but, in 1782, owing to a 
change in his religious opinions, he returned to London, 
and for ten years devoted himself with unwearied 
assiduity to historical and methaphysical inquiries. The 
result of this mental discipline was the publication, in 
1793, of his Political Justice, the effect of which work 
on the public mind is sufficiently attested by the fact that 



shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 33 

three editions were sold in as many years. Caleb Wil- 
liams and the Enquirer followed, and gave Godwin a 
reputation which he preserved unsullied through the 
whole of his long life. 

From the commencement of his career in London, the 
philosopher lived in a small cottage, without any further 
attendance than that of a woman who came every morn- 
ing to set the house in order for the day. Liberal 
overtures from the leaders of the Whig phalanx, who 
desired to enlist in their service so eminent and in- 
fluential an author, were repeatedly made to him, and 
as often refused ; for Godwin, like a second Andrew 
Marvell, disdained to be the slave of party. This stern 
independence of character, combined with the mild, un- 
impassioned manner with which he prosecuted his in- 
quiries into subjects which most men at that time 
debated with the fierceness and acrimony of personal 
strife, soon gathered round him a small knot of disciples, 
who sat at his feet and gathered up his sayings as they 
mio-ht have done those of a sage of ancient Greece. 
He became, as it were, the recognized head of a small 
sect ; and of this sect Shelley speedily regarded himself 
as a member. The poet wrote to the philosopher from 
Keswick, and, frankly stating his position, his marriage, 
and his prospects, proceeded to reveal his political, re- 
ligious, and moral opinions, and to declare his long- 
cherished hope of being on some future day of use to 
his fellow-creatures. Towards this end, and for the 
better regulation of his pursuits and studies, he re- 
quested the aid of the author of Political Justice. 

2* 



34 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Godwin received this unexpected communication with 
great kindness, and a long and interesting correspond- 
ence ensued between the two writers. Some portions 
of this will be found in the present volume. 

From Keswick, Shelley went to Dublin, and during 
this period the influence of his newly acquired friend 
and adviser was of incalculable benefit to him, in guard- 
ing him from the consequences which his own fearless 
impetuosity would have entailed, in his championship of 
Irish wrongs. Ireland was at that time a disgrace to 
England and to herself. A dominant caste — proud, res- 
olute, and vindictive, opposed to all change, and certain, 
in the last resort, of the support of England's strength — 
misruled a population which was priest-ridden, ignorant, 
and adverse from labor. The priests themselves (with 
the exception of those who had been specially educated 
on the Continent, for the purpose of representing the in- 
terests and maintaining the dignity of their church in the 
more polished circles of Dublin) were scarcely more 
literate than the rabble over whom they possessed un- 
bounded influence ; and the Union had handed over to 
still meaner minds and yet more uncleanly hands the 
traditionary struggles for the perquisites of a delegated 
Court. 

Loud was the cry of Irish patriotism when Shelley 
visited the sister island, where he flung himself, with his 
usual impulsive ardor, into the turbid stream of Hiber- 
nian politics. It was then that the value of Godwin's 
calm, experienced intellect became manifest; for there 
is no doubt that his letters supplied the necessary balance 



SHELLEY'S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 35 

of prudence and mature thought to the youthful vehe- 
mence of Shelley's mind. This good effect was aided by 
an adventure which occurred to Bysshe during his ad- 
vocacy of Irish grievances. On one occasion, at a meet- 
ing — probably a meeting of patriots — so much ill-will 
against the Protestants was shown, that Shelley was pro- 
voked to remark that the Protestants were fellow- Chris- 
tians and fellow-subjects, and were therefore entitled to 
equal rights and equal toleration with the Papists. Of 
course, he was forthwith interrupted by savage yells. A 
fierce uproar ensued, and the denouncer of bigotry was 
compelled to be silent. At the same meeting, and after- 
wards, he was even threatened with personal violence, 
and the police suggested to him the propriety of quitting 
the country. 

The philanthropic association which was to bestow Ar- 
cadian days on Ireland was accordingly abandoned, and, 
after a brief stay in the Isle of Man, and a residence of 
some duration in North Wales, Shelley and his wife 
sheltered themselves in a cottage at Lymouth, a place 
situated in a romantic part of North Devonshire. While 
here, Bysshe addressed a letter to Lord Ellenborough, 
touching the sentence passed by him on a man named 
Eaton, a London bookseller, for publishing the third part 
of Thomas Paine's Age of Reason. In a letter to God- 
win he says : — 

" What do you think of Eaton's trial and sentence ? 
I mean not to insinuate that this poor bookseller has any 
characteristics in common with Socrates or Jesus Christ ; 
still, the spirit which pillories and imprisons him is the 



36 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

same which brought them to an untimely end. Still, 
even in this enlightened age, the moralist and the re- 
former may expect coercion analogous to that used with 
the humble yet zealous imitator of their endeavors." 

The larger part of the letter to Lord Ellenborough is 
appended below.* It is a composition of great eloquence 
and logical exactness of reasoning, and the truths which 
it contains on the subject of universal toleration are now 
generally admitted. At* the time of writing this letter, 
Shelley was only nineteen years of age ; and, from his 
earliest boyhood to his latest years, whatever varieties of 
opinion may have marked his intellectual course, he" 
never for a moment swerved from the noble doctrine of 
unbounded liberty of thought and speech. To him, the 
rights of the intellect were sacred ; and all kings, teachers, 
or priests, who sought to circumscribe the activity of dis- 
cussion, and to check by force the full development of the 
reasoning powers, he regarded as enemies to the inde- 
pendence of man, who did their utmost to destroy the 
spiritual essence of our being. 



" A Letter to Lord Ellenborough, occasioned by the 
Sentence which he passed on Mr. D. J. Eaton, as pub- 
Usher of the Third Part of Paine's i Age of Reason.' 

" ' Deorum offensa, Diis curse.' 

" 'It is contrary to the mild spirit of the Christian religion; for no 
sanction can be found under that dispensation which will warrant a 

* The omitted portions are the passages which Shelley introduced 
into the notes to Queen Mab, and which are printed in the collected 
edition of his works. 



SHELLEY S ACQUAINTANCE WITH GODWIN. 87 

Government to impose disabilities and penalties upon any man on 
account of his religious opinions.' — Marquis Weleesley's Speech. 
— Globe, July 2. 



" Advertisement. — I have waited impatiently for these 
last four months, in the hope that some pen fitter for the im- 
portant task would have spared me the perilous pleasure of 
becoming the champion of an innocent man. This may serve 
as an excuse for delay to those who think that I have let pass 
the aptest opportunity ; but it is not to be supposed that in 
four short months the public indignation raised by Mr. Eaton's 
unmerited suffering can have subsided. 



"To Lord Ellenborough. 
"My Lord, 

" As the station to which you have been called by your 
country is important, so much the more awful is your responsi- 
bility ; so much the more does it become you to watch lest you 
inadvertently punish the virtuous and reward the vicious. 

" You preside over a Court which is instituted for the sup- 
pression of crime, and to whose authority the people submit 
on no other conditions than that its decrees should be con- 
formable to justice. 

" If it should be demonstrated that a judge had condemned 
an innocent man, the bare existence of laws in conformity to 
which the accused is punished would but little extenuate his 
offence. The inquisitor, when he burns an obstinate heretic, 
may set up a similar plea ; yet few are sufficiently blinded by 
intolerance to acknowledge its validity. It will less avail such 
a judge to assert the policy of punishing one who has com- 
mitted no crime. Policy and morality ought to be deemed 
synonymous in a court of justice ; and he whose conduct has 
been regulated by the latter principle is not justly amenable 
to any penal law for a supposed violation of the former. It is 
true, my Lord, laws exist which suffice to screen you from the 
animadversion of any constituted power, in consequence of 



38 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the unmerited sentence which you have passed upon Mr. 
Eaton ; but there are no laws which screen you from the re- 
proof of a nation's disgust — none which ward off the just 
judgment of posterity, if that posterity will deign to recollect 
you. 

" By what right do you punish Mr. Eaton ? What but 
antiquated precedents, gathered from times of priestly and 
tyrannical domination, can be adduced in palliation of an 
outrage so insulting to humanity and justice ? Whom has he 
injured ? What crime has he committed ? Wherefore may 
he not walk abroad like other men, and follow his accustomed 
pursuits ? What end is proposed in confining this man, 
charged with the commission of no dishonorable action ? 
Wherefore did his aggressor avail himself of popular preju- 
dice, and return no answer but one of commonplace contempt 
to a defence of plain and simple sincerity ? Lastly, when the 
prejudices of the jury, as Christians, were strongly and un- 
fairly inflamed * against this injured man, as a Deist, where- 
fore did not you, my Lord, check such unconstitutional plead- 
ing, and desire the jury to pronounce the accused innocent or 
criminal f without reference to the particular faith which he 
professed ? 

" In the name of justice, what answer is there to these ques- 
tions ? The answer which Heathen Athens made to Socrates 
is the same with which Christian England must attempt to 
silence the advocates of this injured man. ' He has questioned 
established opinions/ Alas ! the crime of inquiry is one which 
religion never has forgiven. Implicit faith and fearless inquiry 
have in all ages been irreconcilable enemies. Unrestrained 
philosophy has in every age opposed itself to the reveries of 
credulity and fanaticism. The truths of astronomy demon- 
strated by Newton have superseded astrology ; since the mod- 
ern discoveries in chemistry, the philosopher's stone has no 

* See the Attorney-General's speech. 

f By Mr. Fox's Bill (1791) juries are, in cases of libel, judges both 
of the law and the fact. 



shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 39 

longer been deemed attainable. Miracles of every kind have 
become rare in proportion to the hidden principles which 
those who study nature have developed. That which is false 
will ultimately be controverted by its own falsehood. That 
which is true needs but publicity to be acknowledged. . . . 

" Wherefore, I repeat, is Mr. Eaton punished ? Because 
he is a Deist. And what are you, my Lord ? A Christian. 
Ha, then ! the mask has fallen off. You persecute him be- 
cause his faith differs from yours. You copy the persecutors 
of Christianity in your actions, and are an additional proof 
that your religion is as bloody, barbarous, and intolerant as 
theirs. If some Deistical bigot in power (supposing such a 
character for the sake of illustration) should, in dark and bar- 
barous ages, have enacted a statute making the profession of 
Christianity criminal, if you, my Lord, were a Christian book- 
seller, and Mr. Eaton a judge, those arguments which you 
consider adequate to justify yourself for the sentence you have 
passed must likewise suffice, in the suppositionary case, to jus- 
tify Mr. Eaton in sentencing you to Newgate and the pillory 
for being a Christian. Whence is any right derived, but that 
which power confers, for persecution ? DoT you think to con- 
vert Mr. Eaton to your religion by embittering his existence ? 
You might force him by torture to profess your tenets, but he 
could not believe them except you should make them credible, 
which perhaps exceeds your power. Do you think to please 
the God you worship by this exhibition of your zeal ? If so, 
the demon to whom some nations offer human hecatombs is 
less barbarous than the Deity of civilized society. . . . 

" If the law de hceretico comburendo has not been formally 
repealed, I conceive that, from the promise held out by your 
Lordship's zeal, we need not despair of beholding the flames 
of persecution rekindled in Smithfield. Even now the lash 
that drove Descartes and Voltaire from their native country, 
the chains which bound Galileo, the flames which burned Va- 
nini, again resound. . . . Does the Christian God, whom 
his followers eulogize as the Deity of humility and peace — He, 



40 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the regenerator of the world, the meek reformer — authorize 
one man to rise against another, and, because lictors are at his 
beck, to chain and torture him as an infidel ? 

" When the Apostles went abroad to convert the nations, 
were they enjoined to stab and poison all who disbelieved the 
divinity of Christ's mission ? Assuredly, they would have 
been no more justifiable in this case than he is at present who 
puts into execution the law which inflicts pillory and imprison- 
ment on the Deist. 

" Has not Mr. Eaton an equal right to call your Lordship 
an infidel as you have to imprison him for promulgating a 
different doctrine from that which you profess ? What do I 
say ! Has he not even a stronger plea ? The word infidel 
can only mean anything when applied to a person who pro- 
fesses that which he disbelieves. The test of truth is an undi- 
vided reliance on its inclusive powers ; the test of conscious 
falsehood is the variety of the forms under which it presents 
itself, and its tendency towards employing whatever coercive 
means may be within its command, in order to procure the 
admission of what is unsusceptible of support from reason or 
persuasion 

" I hesitate not to affirm that the opinions which Mr. Eaton 
sustained, when undergoing that mockery of a trial, at which 
your Lordship presided, appear to me more true and good 
than those of his accuser ; but, were they false as the visions 
of a Calvinist, it still would be the duty of , those who love 
liberty and virtue to raise their voice indignantly against a 
reviving system of persecution — against the coercively re- 
pressing any opinion, which, if false, needs but the opposition 
of truth — which, if true, in spite of force must ultimately 
prevail. 

" Mr. Eaton asserted that the Scriptures were, from begin- 
ning to end, a fable.* He did so ; and the Attorney- General 
denied the proposition which he asserted, and asserted that 
which he denied. What singular conclusion is deducible from 

* See the Attorney-General's speech. 



shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 41 

this fact ? None, but that the Attorney- General and Mr. 
Eaton sustained two opposite opinions. The Attorney-General 
puts some obsolete and tyrannical laws in force against Mr. 
Eaton, because he publishes a book tending to prove that cer- 
tain supernatural events, which are supposed to have taken 
place eighteen centuries ago, in a remote corner of the world, 
did not actually take place. But how is the truth or falsehood 
of the facts in dispute relevant to the merit or demerit at- 
tachable to the advocates of the two opinions ? No man is 
accountable for his belief, because no man is capable of direct- 
ing it. Mr. Eaton is therefore totally blameless. What are 
we to think of the justice of a sentence which punishes an 
individual against whom it is not even attempted to attach the 
slightest stain of criminality ? 

" It is asserted that Mr. Eaton's opinions are calculated to 
subvert morality. How ? What moral truth is spoken of 
with irreverence or ridicule in the book which he published ? 
Morality, or the duty of a man and a citizen, is founded on 
the relations which arise from the association of human beings, 
and which vary with the circumstances produced by the dif- 
ferent states of this association. This duty, in similar situa- 
tions, must be precisely the same in all ages and nations. 
The opinion contrary to this has arisen from a supposition 
that the will of God is the source or criterion of morality. It 
is plain that the utmost exertion of Omnipotence could not 
cause that to be virtuous which actually is vicious. An all- 
powerful Demon might, indubitably, annex punishments to 
virtue and rewards to vice, but could not by these means 
effect the slightest change in their abstract and immutable 
natures. Omnipotence could vary, by a providential interpo- 
sition, the relations of human society ; in this latter case, what 
before was virtuous would become vicious, according to the 
necessary and natural result of the alteration ; but the abstract 
natures of the opposite principles would have sustained not the 
slightest change. For instance, the punishment with which 
society restrains the robber, the assassin, and the ravisher, is 



42 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

just, laudable, and requisite. We admire and respect the 
institutions which curb those who would defeat the ends for 
which society was established ; but, should a precisely similar 
coercion be exercised against one who merely expressed his 
disbelief of a system admitted by those intrusted with the exec- 
utive power, using at the same time no methods of promulga- 
tion but those afforded by reason, certainly this coercion 
would be eminently inhuman and immoral ; and the supposi- 
tion that any revelation from an unknown Power avails to 
palliate a persecution so senseless, unprovoked, and indefensi- 
ble, is at once to destroy the barrier which reason places be- 
tween vice and virtue, and leave to unprincipled fanaticism a 
plea whereby it may excuse every act of frenzy which its own 
wild passions, not the inspirations of the Deity, have engen- 
dered. 

" Moral qualities are such as only a human being can pos- 
sess. To attribute them to the Spirit of the Universe, or to 
suppose that it is capable of altering them, is to degrade God 
into man, and to annex to this incomprehensible Being quali- 
ties incompatible with any possible definition of his nature. 

" It may be here objected : Ought not the Creator to possess 
the perfections of the creature ? No. To attribute to God 
the moral qualities of man, is to suppose him susceptible of 
passions, which, arising out of corporeal organization, it is 
plain that a pure Spirit cannot possess But even sup- 
pose, with the vulgar, that God is a venerable old man, seated 
on a throne of clouds, his breast the theatre of various pas- 
sions, analogous to those of humanity, his will changeable and 
uncertain as that of an earthly king ; — still, goodness and 
justice are qualities seldom nominally denied him, and it will 
be admitted that he disapproves of any action incompatible 
with those qualities. Persecution for opinion is unjust. With 
what consistency, then, can the worshippers of a Deity whose 
benevolence they boast embitter the existence of their fellow 
being, because his ideas of that Deity are different from those 
which they entertain ? Alas ! there is no consistency in those 



shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 43 

persecutors who worship a benevolent Deity ; those who wor- 
ship a demon would alone act consonantly to these principles 
by imprisoning and torturing in his name. 

" Persecution is the only name applicable to punishment in- 
flicted on an individual in consequence of his opinions. What 
end is persecution designed to answer ? Can it convince him 
whom it injures ? Can it prove to the people the falsehood of 
his opinions ? It may make Mm a hypocrite, and them 
cowards ; but bad means can promote no good end. The un- 
prejudiced mind looks with suspicion on a doctrine that needs 
the sustaining hand of power. 

" Socrates was poisoned because he dared to combat the 
degrading superstitions in which his countrymen were educated. 
Not long after his death, Athens recognized the injustice of 
his sentence ; his accuser, Melitus, was condemned, and Soc- 
rates became a demi-god 

"Man ! the very existence of whose most cherished opinions 
depends from a thread so feeble, arises out of a source so equiv- 
ocal,* learn at least humility; own at least that it is possible 
for thyself also to have been seduced by education and circum- 
stance into the admission of tenets destitute of rational proof, 
and the truth of which has not yet been satisfactorily demon- 
strated. Acknowledge at least that the falsehood of thy 
brother's opinions is no sufficient reason for his meriting thy 
hatred. What ! because a fellow being disputes the reasona- 
bleness of thy faith, wilt thou punish him with torture and im- 
prisonment? If persecution for religious opinions were ad- 
mitted by the moralist, how wide a door would not be opened 
by which convulsionists of every kind might make inroads on 
the peace of society ! How many deeds of barbarism and 
blood would not receive a sanction ! But I will demand, if 
that man is not rather entitled to the respect than the dis- 
countenance of society, who, by disputing a received doctrine 

* He has just been indicating what he regards as the weak points 
in the proofs of the Christian religion. — Ed. 



44 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

either proves its falsehood and inutility (thereby aiming at the 
abolition of what is false and useless), or gives to its adherents 
an opportunity of establishing its excellence and truth. Surely 
this can be no crime. Surely the individual who devotes his 
time to fearless and unrestricted inquiry into the grand ques- 
tions arising out of our moral nature ought rather to receive 
the patronage, than encounter the vengeance, of an enlightened 
legislature. I would have you to know, my Lord, that fetters 
'6f iron cannot bind or subdue the soul of virtue. From the 
damps and solitude of its dungeon it ascends, free and un- 
daunted, whither thine, from the pompous seat of judgment, 
dare not soar. I do not warn you to beware lest your profes- 
sion as a Christian should make you forget that you are a 
man ; but I warn you against festinating that period which, 
under the present coercive system, is too rapidly maturing, 
when the seats of justice shall be the seats of venality and 
slavishness, and the cells of Newgate become the abodes of all 
that is honorable and true. 

" I mean not to compare Mr. Eaton with Socrates or Jesus ; 
he is a man of blameless and respectable character ; he is a 
citizen unimpeached with crime ; if, therefore, his rights as a 
citizen and a man have been infringed, they have been in- 
fringed by illegal and immoral violence. But I will assert 
that, should a second Jesus arise among men, should such a 
one as Socrates again enlighten the earth, lengthened impris- 
onment and infamous punishment (according to the regimen 
of persecution revived by your Lordship) would effect what 
hemlock and the cross have heretofore effected, and the stain 
on the national character, like that on Athens and Judea, 
would remain indelible, but by the destruction of the history 
in which it is recorded 

" The horrible and wide-wasting enormities, which gleam 
like comets through the darkness of Gothic and superstitious 
ages, are regarded by the moralist as no more than the neces- 
sary effects of known causes ; but, when an enlightened age 
and nation signalizes itself by a deed becoming none but bar- 



shelley's acquaintance with Godwin. 45 

barians and fanatics, philosophy itself is even induced to doubt 
whether human nature will ever emerge from the pettishness 
and imbecility of its childhood. The system of persecution, 
at whose new birth you, my Lord, are one of the presiding 
midwives, is not more impotent and wicked than inconsistent. 
The press is loaded with what are called (ironically, I should 
conceive) proofs of the Christian religion ; these books are 
replete with invective and calumny against infidels; they 
presuppose that he who rejects Christianity must be utterly 
divested of reason and feeling; they advance the most un- 
supported assertions, and take as first principles the most 
revolting dogmas. The inferences drawn from these assumed 
premises are imposingly logical and correct; but if a foun- 
dation is weak, no architect is needed to foretell the insta- 
bility of the superstructure. If the truth of Christianity is not 
disputable, for what purpose are these books written ? If 
there are sufficient to prove it, what further need of contro- 
versy? .... 

" Let us suppose that some half-witted philosopher should 
assert that the earth was the centre of the universe, or that 
ideas could enter the human mind independently of sensation 
or reflection. This man would assert what is demonstrably 
incorrect ; he would promulgate a false opinion. Yet, would 
he therefore deserve pillory and imprisonment ? By no means ; 
probably few would discharge more correctly the duties of a 
citizen and a man. I admit that the case above stated is not 
precisely in point. The thinking part of the community has 
not received as indisputable the truth of Christianity, as they 
have that of the Newtonian system. A very large portion of 
society, and that powerfully and extensively connected, de- 
rives its sole emolument from the belief of Christianity as 
a popular faith. 

" To torture and imprison the assertor of a dogma, however 
ridiculous and false, is highly barbarous and impolitic. How, 
then, does not the cruelty of persecution become aggravated 
when it is directed against the opposer of an opinion yet un- 



46 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

der dispute, and which men of unrivalled acquirements, pene- 
trating genius, and stainless virtue, have spent, and at last 
sacrificed, their lives in combating ! 

"The time is rapidly approaching — I hope that you, my 
Lord, may live to behold its arrival — when the Mahometan, 
the Jew, the Christian, the Deist, and the Atheist, will live 
together in one community, equally sharing the benefits which 
arise from its association, and united in the bonds of charity 
and brotherly love. My Lord, you have condemned an inno- 
cent man ; no crime was imputed to him, and you sentenced 
him to torture and imprisonment, I have not addressed this 
letter to you with the hope of convincing you that you have 
acted wrong. The most unprincipled and barbarous of men 
are not unprepared with sophisms to prove that they would 
have acted in no other manner, and to show that vice is virtue. 
But I raise my solitary voice, to express my disapprobation, so 
far as it goes, of the cruel and unjust sentence you passed 
upon Mr. Eaton — to assert, so far as I am capable of influ- 
encing, those rights of humanity which you have wantonly 
and unlawfully infringed. 

" My Lord, yours," &c. 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 47 



CHAPTER V. 

LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE I 1812. 

In the solitude of Lymouth, Shelley read much, pro- 
jected many works, and addressed several letters on lit- 
erary and social topics to his friends. These letters will, 
for the most part, speak for themselves, and will unfold, 
to a certain extent in an autobiographical form, some of 
the ensuing phases of the poet's life. The first of them 
is addressed to Mr. Thomas Hookham, of Old Bond 
Street, a valued friend of Shelley, and runs as follows: — 

" Lymouth , Barnstaple, Aug. 18th, 1812. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Your parcel arrived last night, for which I am much 
obliged. Before I advert to any other topic, I will explain the 
contents of mine in which this is enclosed. In the first place, I 
send you fifty copies of the Letter [to Lord Ellenborough]. 
I send you a copy of a work which I have procured from 
America, and which I am exceedingly anxious should be pub- 
lished. It develops, as you will perceive by the most super- 
ficial reading, the actual state of republicanized Ireland, and 
appears to me, above all things, calculated to remove the 
prejudices which have too long been cherished of that op- 
pressed country. I enclose also two pamphlets which I printed 
and distributed whilst in Ireland some months ago (no book- 
seller daring to publish them). They were on that account 



48 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

attended with only partial success, and I request your opinion 
as to the probable result of publishing them with the annexed 
suggestions in one pamphlet, with an explanatory preface, in 
London. They would find their way to Dublin. 

" You confer on me an obligation, and involve a high compli- 
ment, by your advice. I shall, if possible, prepare a volume 
of essays, moral and religious, by November; but, all my 
MSS. now being in Dublin, and from peculiar circumstances 
not immediately obtainable, I do not know whether I can. I 
enclose also, by way of specimen, all that I have written of a 
little poem begun since my arrival in England. I conceive I 
have matter enough for six more cantos. You will perceive 
that I have not attempted to temper my constitutional enthu- 
siasm in that poem. Indeed, a poem is safe ; the iron-souled 
Attorney- General would scarcely dare to attack [it]. The 
Past, the Present, and the Future, are the grand and compre- 
hensive topics of this poem. I have not yet half exhausted 
the second of them.* 

"I shall take the liberty of retaining the two poems which 
you have sent me (Mr. Peacock's), and only regret that my 
powers are so circumscribed as to prevent me from becoming 
extensively useful to your friend. The poems abound with a 
genius, an information, the power and extent of which I 
admire, in proportion as I lament the object of their applica- 
tion. Mr. Peacock conceives that commerce is prosperity ; 
that the glory of the British flag is the happiness of the British 
people ; that George III., so far from having been a warrior 
and a tyrant, has been a patriot. To me it appears otherwise ; 
and I have rigidly accustomed myself not to be seduced by 
the loveliest eloquence or the sweetest strains to regard with 
intellectual toleration that which ought not to be tolerated by 
those who love liberty, truth, and virtue. I mean not to say 
that Mr. Peacock does not love them ; but I mean to say that 
he regards those means [as] intrumental to their progress, 
which I regard [as] instrumental to their destruction. (See 

* The poem here alluded to is (I conceive) Queen Mab. — Ed. 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 49 

Genius of the Thames, pp. 24, 26, 28, 76, 98.) At the same 
time, I am free to say that the poem appears to be far beyond 
mediocrity in genius and versification, and the conclusion of 
Palmyra the finest piece of poetry I ever read. I have not 
had time to read the Philosophy of Melancholy, and of course 
am only half acquainted with that genius and those powers 
whose application I should consider nrj self rash and imper- 
tinent in criticizing, did I not conceive that frankness and 
justice demand it. 

" I should esteem it as a favor if you would present the en- 
closed letter to the Chevalier Lawrence. I have read his 
Empire of the Nairs ; nay, have it. Perfectly and decidedly 
do I subscribe to the truth of the principles which it is designed 
to establish. 

" I hope you will excuse, nay and doubt not but you will, 
the frankness I have used. Characters of our liberality are 
so wondrous rare, that the sooner they know each other, and 
the fuller and more complete that knowledge is, the better. 
" Dear Sir, permit me to remain 
" Yours, very truly, 

"Percy B. Shelley." 

" I am about translating an old French work, professedly 
by M. Mirabaud — not the famous one — La Systeme de la 
Nature. Do you know anything of it ? 

" To T. HooJcham, Esq., Bond Street, London" 

Although by this time several letters had passed be- 
tween Shelley and Godwin, they had never met. The 
former therefore addressed to the latter a warm invitation 
to pay him and his wife a rural visit at their cottage, 
where, in the perusal of ancient authors, and the inter- 
change of discourse on high social themes, they might 
become personally acquainted. Godwin, however, did 
not go immediately to Lymouth ; and, in a letter dated 
' 3 



50 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

July 7th, 1812, Shelley declines to press the invitation, 
because, as his wife suggested to him, their wished-for 
guest was at that time in delicate health, and their rooms 
" were complete servants' rooms." Allusion is made in 
the same letter to the Shelleys going up to London, and 
living with the Godwins. On the 18th of September, the 
author of Political Justice unexpectedly arrived at Ly- 
mouth — only to find that the young couple had left since 
August 31st. This must have been a great vexation to 
Godwin ; for, in a communication to his wife, written 
from Bristol, previous to embarking for Devonshire, he 
speaks of Shelley as " the young man who has so greatly 
excited my curiosity." A subsequent letter to Mrs. 
Godwin gives the details of the misadventure. 

" Lymouth, Valley of Stones, Sept. 19th, 1812. 
"My dear Love, 

" The Shelleys are gone ! have been gone these three 
weeks. I hope you hear this first from me ; I dread lest every 
day may have brought you a letter from them, conveying this 
strange intelligence. I know you would conjure up a thou- 
sand frightful ideas of my situation under this disappointment. 
I have myself a disposition to take quietly any evil, when it 
can no longer be avoided, when it ceases to be attended with 
uncertainty, and when I can already compute the amount of 
it. 1 heard this news instantly on my arrival at this place, 
and therefore walked immediately (that is, as soon as I had 
dined) to the Valley of Stones, that, if I could not have what 
was gone away, I might at least not fail to visit what re- 
mained. 

" You advise me to return by sea. I thank you a thousand 
times for your kind and considerate motive in this ; .but cer- 
tainly nothing more repulsive could be proposed to me at this 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 51 

moment than a return by sea. I left Bristol at one o'clock on 
Wednesday, and arrived here at four o'clock on Friday (yes- 
terday), after a passage of fifty-one hours. We had fourteen 
passengers, and only four berths ; therefore, I lay down only 
once for a few hours. We had very little wind, and accord- 
ingly regularly tided it for six hours, and lay at anchor for 
six, till we reached this place. This place is fifteen miles short 
of Ilfracombe. If the captain, after great entreaty from the 
mate and one of his passengers (for I cannot entreat for such 
things), [had not] lent me his own boat to put me ashore, I 
really think I should have died with ennui. We anchored, 
Wednesday night, somewhere within sight of the Holmes 
(small islands, so called, in the Bristol Channel). The next 
night we came within sight of Minehead ; but the evening set 
in with an alarming congregation of black clouds, the sea 
rolled vehemently without a wind (a phenomenon, which is 
said to portend a storm), and the captain, in a fright, put over 
to Penarth, near Cardiff, on the coast of Wales, and even told 
us that he should put us ashore there for the night. At 
Penarth, he said, there was but one house ; but it had a fine 
large barn annexed to it, capable of accommodating us all. 
This was a cruel reverse to me and my fellow passengers, 
who had never doubted that we should reach the end of our 
voyage some time in the second day. By the time, however, 
we had made the Welsh Coast, the frightful symptoms disap- 
peared, the night became clear and serene, and I landed here 
happily — that is, without further accident — the next day. 
These are small events to persons accustomed to a seafaring 
life, but they were not small to me ; and you will allow that 
they were not much mitigated by the elegant and agreeable 
accommodations of our crazed vessel. I was not decisively 
sea-sick ; but had qualmish and discomforting sensations from 
the time we left the Bristol river, particularly after having lain 
down a few hours on Wednesday night. 

" Since writing the above, I have been to the house where 
Shelley lodged, and I bring good news. I saw the woman of 



52 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the house and I was delighted with her. She is a good crea- 
ture, and quite loved the Shelleys. They lived here nine 
weeks and three days. They went away in a great hurry, 
and in debt to her and two more. They gave her a draft 
upon the Honorable Mr. Lawleys, brother to Lord Cloncurry, 
and they borrowed of her twenty-nine shillings, beside 31. that 
she got for them from a neighbor, all of which they faithfully 
returned when they got to Ilfracombe, the people not choosing 
to change a bank-note which had been cut in half for safety in 
sending it by the post.* But the best news is, that the 
woman says they will be in London in a fortnight. This quite 
comforts my heart." 

In the restlessness of his disposition, Shelley had pro- 
ceeded to Tanyralt, Caernarvonshire, where he hired a 
cottage belonging to a Mr. Macldox. This gentleman had 
reclaimed several thousand acres from the sea; but the 
embankment proved insufficient during an unusually high 
tide. The poor cottagers living on this hazardous land 
were thrown into great distress by the incursions of the 
sea consequent on the breaches made in the earthworks ; 
and Shelley now exhibited a remarkable proof of that 
noble munificence which was one of the most striking 
features of his character. He personally solicited sub- 
scriptions from the gentlemen of the neighborhood, and 
himself headed the list with a donation of 500Z., though 
his means, as the reader has seen, were small. But he 
did not allow his zeal to stop even here ; for, accom- 
panied by his wife, he hurried up to London, to obtain 
further succor. He was finally successful in his efforts ; 
the embankment was repaired and strengthened, and the 
inhabitants were protected from future risk. 

# They had received only the half. — Ed. 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 53 

During his visit to London, Shelley made the personal 
acquaintance of Godwin, with whom he lived for a time ; 
and to the philosopher's daughter Fanny he. addressed 
the subjoined letter, after having rather abruptly left 
their house : — 

Dec. 10th, 1812. 
" Dear Fanny, 

" So you do not know whether it is proper to write to me ? 
Now, one of the most conspicuous considerations that arise from 
such a topic is — who and what am I ? I am one of those for- 
midable and long-clawed animals called a man, and it is not 
until I have assured you that I am one of the most inoffensive 
of my species, that I live on vegetable food, and never bit 
since I was bom, that I venture to obtrude myself on your at- 
tention. But to be serious. I shall feel much satisfaction in 
replying, with as much explicitness as my nature is capable of, 
to any questions you may put to me. I know that I have in 
some degree forfeited a direct claim to your confidence and 
credit, and that of your inestimable circle ; but, if you will 
believe me as much as you can, I will be as sincere as I can. 
I certainly am convinced that, with the exception of one or 
two isolated instances, I am so far from being an insincere 
man, that my plainness has occasionally given offence, and 
caused some to accuse me of being defective in that urbanity 
and toleration which is supposed to be due to society. Allow 
me, in the absence of the topics which are eventually to be dis- 
cussed between us, to assume the privilege you have claimed, 
and ask a question. How is Harriet a fine lady V You indi- 
rectly accuse her in your letter of this offence — to me the 
most unpardonable of all. The ease and simplicity of her 
habits, the unassuming plainness of her address, the uncalcu- 
lated connection of her thought and speech, have ever formed, 
in my eyes, her greatest charms ; and none of these are com- 
patible with fashionable life, or the attempted assumption of 
its vulgar and noisy eclat. You have a prejudice to contend 



54 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

with in making me a convert to this last opinion of yours, 
which, so long as I have a living and daily witness to its fu- 
tility before me, I fear will be insurmountable. The second 
accusation (the abruptness of our departure) has more foun- 
dation, though in its spirit it is not less false and futile than 
the first. It must indeed, I confess it, have appeared insensi- 
ble and unfeeling ; it must have appeared an ill return for all 
the kind greetings we had received at your house, to leave it 
in haste and coldness — to leave even the enlightened and 
zealous benevolence of Godwin ever [active] for good, and 
never deterred or discouraged in schemes for rectifying our 
perplexed affairs — to bid not one adieu to one of you; but, 
had you been placed in a situation where you might justly 
have balanced all our embarrassments, qualms, and fluctua- 
tions, had seen the opposite motives combating in our minds 
for mastery, had felt some tithe of the pain with which at 
length we submitted to a galling yet unappealable necessity, 
you would have sympathized rather than condemned, have 
pitied rather than criminated us unheard. Say the truth : 
did not a sense of the injustice of our supposed unkindness 
add some point to the sarcasms which we found occasionally 
in your last letter ? . . . 

"If all my laughs were not dreadful, Sardonic grins, dis- 
graceful to the most hideous of Cheshire cats, I should certainly 
laugh at two things in your last letter. The one is, " not know- 
ing whether it is proper to write to me," lest — God knows what 
might happen ; and the other is, comparing our movement to 
that of a modern novel. Now, a novel (modern or ancient) 
never moves but as the reader moves, and I, being a reader, 
if I take up one of these similitudes of our progress, never can 
get beyond the third line in the second page ; therefore, you 
ought rather to have compared a novel to a snail than to us. 

" Now, my dear Fanny, do not be angry at either my laughs, 
my criticisms, or my queries. They proceed from levity, my 
proper view of things, and my desire of setting them before 
you in what I consider a right light. 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 55 

" Your questions shall be answered with precision ; and, if 
hope in my quality as a man be not too tremendous, I shall 
acquire from the result an interesting and valuable corre- 
spondent. 

" With much esteem, your true friend, 

"P. B. Shelley. 
" To Miss Fanny Godwin." 

The following letter of literary advice from Godwin to 
Shelley possesses great interest : — 

"Dec. 10th, 1812. 
"My dear Shelley, 

" I sit down the sooner to answer your very kind and ex- 
cellent letter, because, if you are really desirous to make an 
experiment of a plan of my recommending, it would be unfair 
and unjust in me to withhold the information you ask. 

" The light in which I should wish every man, every young 
man in particular, to consider the study of history, is as a 
means of becoming acquainted with whatever of noble, useful, 
generous, and admirable, human nature is capable of design- 
ing and performing. To see all this illustrated by examples 
carrying it directly into act, is, perhaps, superior to all the 
theories and speculations that can possibly be formed. His- 
tory, in its most comprehensive sense, is a detail of all that 
man has done in solitude or in society, so far as it can be ren- 
dered matter of record. It is our own fault, therefore, if we 
do not select and dwell upon the best. This is so much matter 
of feeling among all who read history, that it is universally 
agreed that, next to the history of our own country, the his- 
tories of Greece and Rome most deserve to be studied. Why ? 
Because in them the achievements of the human species have 
been most admirable ; in Rome, in high moral and social quali- 
ties ; in Greece, both in them and also in literature and art. 

" The just way of criticizing man, in my opinion, is analo- 
gous to the right way of criticizing works of literature and art. 
When you talk to me of Milton and Shakspeare, I should be- 



56 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

gin with saying : Let us set their faults out of our view ; not 
that they are never to be considered, but that this makes no 
part of what is most peculiar in them. Faults are like paper 
and ink ; no book can exist without them ; but they have 
nothing to do, in the first instance, with deciding upon the 
merits of an author. Put a new book into my hands, and the 
first question I shall ask you, if I question you wisely, is : 
What are its excellencies ? Does it exhibit any grand views ? 
Does it contain any beautiful passages? Here all the good 
and all the honor lies. Just so is man. I am bound first to 
examine whether there were really great and high qualities in 
Cato, in Regulus, in Brutus, in Solon, in Themistocles ; and 
when I have made my very heart familiar with the conception 
of these, I will then proceed, if you like, to the examination 
of those defects by which they were allied to the weakness 
and errors of our common nature. A true student is a man 
seated in his chair, and surrounded with a sort of intrench- 
ment and breastwork of books. It is for boarding-school 
misses to read one book at a time. Particularly when I am 
sifting out facts, either of science or history, I must place my- 
self in the situation of a man making a book, rather than read- 
ing books. When I have studied the Grecian history in 
Homer, in Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon, and Plutarch, 
together with those of the moderns that are most capable, or 
most elaborate, in unfolding or appreciating the materials the 
ancients have left us, I shall then begin to know what Greece 
was. I need not, of course, mention how superior is the in- 
formation and representation of contemporaries to those who 
come afterwards and write their stories over again. The 
compilers are a sort of middle class between the real authors 
and the makers 'of dictionaries. True reading is investiga- 
tion — not a passive reception of what our author gives us, 
but an active inquiry, appreciation, and digestion of his sub- 
ject. 

" Yet there is a certain difficulty in this. We ought first to 
take a comprehensive survey of every subject, and a private 



• LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 57 

view of every author who, for his own merits, is worth our 
studying. Hence it follows that there are various processes to 
be successively performed by him who would master the his- 
tory of any one country or memorable period ; and hence it 
appears (what has been observed in various forms by many 
writers) that it is almost impossible for any man to get fully to 
the end of any subject. There is another rule, that, both from 
experience and reason, I should strongly recommend to any 
one desirous of becoming a student, and that is, to have three 
or four different studies for different parts of the day, or, if 
you will, to be taken up in a sort of rotation in each day. 
Such a plan adds wonderfully to the stimulus moving us, and 
to the progress actually made. I have for the greater part of 
my life read at least for one hour a day in some Greek, and 
for one hour in some Latin, author ; and I am sure I have 
done twice as much as I should have done in any other way 
of proceeding. 

" You ask me concerning some of our elder writers, and I 
will therefore very briefly mention a few. I observed to you 
that Shakspeare had many contemporary dramatists, any one 
of which would have done for almost the best man of any other 
age. Such were Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Web- 
ster, Ford, Dekker, Heywood, and Massinger. Then what 
illustrious poets had those times in Spenser, Drayton, and 
Daniel ! not to mention the minor poets (I mean in quantity), 
such as Davies and Donne. Chapman's Homer has infinitely 
more fire than any other translation I have ever read. He 
was thoroughly invested and penetrated with the sacredness 
of the poetic character. 

" To proceed from poetry to prose. Shakspeare, Bacon, 
and Milton are the three greatest contemplative characters 
that this island has produced. Therefore, as I put Shakspeare 
and Milton at the head of our poetry, I put Bacon and Milton 
at the head of our prose. Yet what astonishing prose writers 
had we in Sir Thomas Browne and Jeremy Taylor ! not to 
mention two others, only inferior to them, Robert Burton and 
3** 



58 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Isaac Walton. Hobbes and Shelton, also, as prose translators 
may almost rank with Chapman in verse. 

" Those were the times when authors thought. Every line 
is pregnant with sense, and the reader is inevitably put to the 
expense of thinking likewise. The writers were richly fur- 
nished with conception, imagination, and feeling ; and out of 
the abundance of their hearts flowed the lucubrations they 
committed to paper. You have what appears to me a false 
taste in poetry. You love a perpetual sparkle and glittering, 
such as are to be found in Darwin, and Southey, and Scott, 
and Campbell." 

Some light is thrown on the peculiar literary tastes 
and antipathies of Shelley by a letter which he wrote 
about this time to Mr. Hookham, commissioning that 
gentleman to purchase certain books for him. The 
disgust of history here confessed has probably been 
shared by all minds which have longed for a state of 
ideal perfection ; but the young student resolved to 
follow the advice of his self-chosen guide, whose words 
the reader has just perused. 

" Tamjralt, Dec. 17th, 1812. 
"My dear Sir, 

" You will receive the Biblical Extracts * in a day or two 
by the twopenny post. I confide them to the care of a person 
going to London. Would not Daniel J. Eaton publish them ? 
Could the question be asked him in any manner ? 

" I am also preparing a volume of minor poems, respecting 
whose publication I shall request your judgment, both as pub- 
lisher and friend. A very obvious question would be — Will 
they sell or not ? Subjoined is a list of books which I wish 
you to send me very soon. I am determined to apply myself 

* This work has never been published. — Ed. 



LITERARY CORRESPONDENCE. 59 

to a study that is hateful and disgusting to my very soul, but 
which is, above all studies, necessary for him who would be 
listened to as a mender of antiquated abuses. I mean that 
record of crimes and miseries, History. You see that the 
metaphysical works to which my heart hankers are not numer- 
ous in this list. One thing will you take care of for me ? that 
those standard and respectable works on history, &c, be of 
the cheapest possible •editions. With respect to metaphysical 
works, I am less scrupulous. 

"Spinoza you may or may not be able to obtain. Kant is 
translated into Latin by some Englishman. I would prefer 
that the Greek classics should have Latin or English versions 
printed opposite. If not to be obtained thus, they must be 
sent otherwise. 

" Mrs. Shelley is attacking Latin with considerable resolu- 
tion, and can already read many odes in Horace. She unites 
with her sister and myself in best wishes to yourself and 
brother. 

" Your very sincere friend, 

" P. B. Shelley. 

"T. Hookham, Esq., 

" 15 Bond Street, London." 



60 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTEE VI. 

POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 

The poetical element in Shelley's nature — that fac- 
ulty by which we mainly know him, though he himself 
conceived it to be secondary to his love of logic and 
metaphysics — was now beginning to develop itself more 
fully and systematically than it had yet done. That 
he must have felt an intense pleasure in the gradual 
unfolding of that gorgeous imagination which afterwards 
produced so many images of almost supernatural loveli- 
ness, cannot be doubted ; but, at the same time, his keen, 
critical perceptions detected with remarkable accuracy 
the faults of his early productions. In writing to Mr. 
Hookham, during the January of 1813, he says: "My 
poems will, I fear, little stand the criticism even of 
friendship. Some of the later ones " (it should be 
recollected that these " later ones " must now be regarded 
as among the early fruit) " have the merit of conveying 
a meaning in every word, and all are faithful pictures 
of my feelings at the time of writing them ; but they are 
in a great measure obscure. One fault they are in- 
disputably exempt from — that of being a volume of 
fashionable literature. I doubt not but your friendly 
hand will clip the wings of my Pegasus considerably." 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 61 

The early poems of Shelley, however, showed nothing 
more than the faults incidental to all young writers ; 
and from the midst of their greatest obscurities issued 
a golden dawn of promise. 

But the pursuits of art were always cheerfully aban- 
doned by the poet when any occasion arose for the 
exercise of his philanthropy, or whenever he conceived 
himself called upon to vindicate and support an op- 
pressed fellow-struggler for liberty and justice. In the 
year 1813, one of a series of government prosecutions 
of the Examiner newspaper, for speaking with more 
freedom on political topics than rulers at that time would 
tolerate, ended in the conviction of Messrs. John and 
Leigh Hunt, who were sentenced to two years' imprison- 
ment, and condemned to pay a fine of 1,000Z. Hereupon 
Shelley wrote from Tanyralt, as follows, to Mr. Hook- 
ham : — 

"February, 1813. 
"My dear Sir, 

" I am boiling with indignation at the horrible injustice and 
tyranny of the sentence pronounced on Hunt and his brother ; 
and it is on this subject that I write to you. Surely the seal 
of abjectness and slavery is indelibly stamped upon the char- 
acter of England. 

" Although I do not retract in the slightest degree my wish 
for a subscription for the widows and children of those poor 
men hung at York, yet this 1,000Z. which the Hunts are sen- 
tenced to pay is an affair of more consequence. Hunt is a 
brave, a good, and an enlightened man. Surely the public, for 
whom Hunt has done so much, will repay in part the great debt 
of obligation which they owe the champion of their liberties 
and virtues ; or are they dead, cold, stone-hearted, and insen- 
sible — brutalized by centuries of unremitting bondage ? How- 



62 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

ever that may be, they surely may be excited into some slight 
acknowledgment of his merits. Whilst hundreds of thousands 
are sent to the tyrants of Russia, he pines in a dungeon, far 
from all that can make life desired. 

" Well, I am rather poor at present ; but I have 201. which 
is not immediately wanted. Pray, begin a subscription for 
the Hunts ; put down my name for that sum, and, when I hear 
that you have complied with my request, I will send it you.* 
Now, if there are any difficulties in the way of this scheme of 
ours, for the love of liberty and virtue, overcome them. O, 
that I might wallow for one night in the Bank of England ! 

" Queen Mdb is finished and transcribed. I am now pre- 
paring the notes, which shall be long and philosophical. You 
will receive it with the other poems. I think that the whole 
should form one volume ; but of that we can speak hereafter. 

" As to the French Encyclopedie, it is a book which I am 
desirous — very desirous — of possessing; and, if you could 
get me a few months' credit (being at present rather low in 
cash), I should very much desire to have it. 

" My dear sir, excuse the earnestness of the first part of my 
letter. I feel warmly on this subject, and I flatter myself that, 
so long as your own independence and liberty remain uncom- 
promised, you are inclined to second my desires. 
" Your very sincere friend, 

" P. B. Shelley. 

" P. S. — If no other way can be devised for this subscrip- 
tion, will you take the trouble on yourself of writing an ap- 
propriate advertisement for the papers, inserting, by way of 
stimulant, my subscription ? 

" On second thoughts, I enclose the 20Z." 

* The Hunts, with a noble magnanimity, for which they long suf- 
fered in a worldly point of view, however great might have been the 
reward of their own consciences, refused to accept any subscription, 
public or private, and paid the fine entirely out of their own pock- 
ets. — Ed. 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 63 

According to Mrs. Shelley, in the collected edition of 
her husband's works, and to the poet himself, as we shall 
shortly see, the latter was eighteen when he wrote 
Queen Mab; but it would appear from the foregoing 
that it was at least aiot completed before he was in his 
twenty-first year. He never published it (though at first 
he designed to do so), but distributed copies amongst his 
friends. In 1821, however, when Shelley was in Italy, 
an edition was surreptitiously issued ; on which its author 
applied to Chancery for an injunction to restrain the sale. 
In addressing the Examiner (under date June 22d) on 
the subject, he thus spoke of the chief composition of 
his youth : — 

"A poem, entitled Queen Mab, was written by me at 
the age of eighteen — I dare say, in a sufficiently intem- 
perate spirit. I have not seen this production for several 
years ; I doubt not but that it is perfectly worthless in point 
of literary composition, and that, in all that concerns 
moral and political speculation, as well as in the subtiler 
discriminations of metaphysical aud religious doctrine, it 
is still more crude and immature. I am a devoted 
enemy to religious, political, and domestic oppression ; 
and I regret this publication, not so much from literary 
vanity, as because I fear it is better fitted to injure than 
to serve the sacred cause of freedom." And in a letter to 
his publisher, Mr. Oilier, dated June 11th, 1821, he uses 
almost the same words, and speaks of the poem as " villa- 
nous trash " — in which sweeping condemnation, however, 
many readers will disagree with him. He continues : — 
"In the name of poetry, and as you are a bookseller 



64 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

(you observe the strength of these conjurations), pray, 
give all manner of publicity to my disapprobation of this 
publication ; in fact, protest for me in an advertisement 
in the strongest terms. I ought to say, however, that I 
am obliged to this piratical fellow in one respect ; that 
he has omitted, with a delicacy for which I thank him 
heartily, a foolish dedication to my late wife, the publica- 
tion of which would have annoyed me, and indeed is the 
only part of the business that could seriously have an- 
noyed me, although it is my duty to protest against the 
whole. I have written to my attorney to do what he 
can to suppress it, although I fear that, after the prec- 
edent of Sou they, there is little probability of an injunc- 
tion being granted." The " fear " here expressed proved 
to be well based. The law gives no protection to a 
heretical book, and in fact refuses to acknowledge it, 
except as the object of a prosecution ; and so the Court 
of Chancery connived at the sale of a work, the opinions 
of which it held to be pernicious. 

The more exalted Platonical speculations of his later 
life naturally made Shelley discontented with the some- 
what cold, though qualified, materialism of Queen Mab. 
But it is a mistake to describe that poem as utterly 
atheistical in its tendency. It is rather pantheistical, 
since, while it rejects the hypothesis of a creative God, 
it affirms the existence of " a pervading Spirit, coeternal 
with the universe.'' Passages might be quoted from it, 
full of deep yet modest piety, as regarded from the 
author's point of view — a point which must be conceded 
to the believers in any creed. The involuntary tendency 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 65 

of a poet to recognize spiritual existences constantly 
breaks forth, and peoples the world with Fairies and 
Genii. The immortality of the soul, and its essential 
difference from the body, are likewise acknowledged — 
nay, even passionately enforced. But, undoubtedly, the 
poem and the notes are anything but orthodox. Shelley 
regarded the conventional religion as gross, contradictory, 
and tending to oppression and cruelty ; and history sup- 
plied him with many dismal facts in support of that view. 
He saw, moreover, that the Christianity of worldly- 
minded men is not sincere. — that their practice is at war 
with their profession ; and, so seeing, he spoke out with 
all the vehemence of youth. For publishing these bold 
comments on the popular faith, Mr. Moxon, as late as 
1840, was prosecuted and convicted. As a literary pro- 
duction, Queen Mab will always possess interest, because 
of the vigorous indications it contains of an expanding 
genius, already haunted with images of splendor and with 
utterances of sonorous melody ; but it cannot be denied 
that it sometimes betrays an adherence to that conven- 
tional style of poetry which was then passing away from 
our literature, and from which Shelley himself afterwards 
widely diverged. The notes exhibit a large extent of 
reading ; and, whatever may be thought of the doctrines 
enforced, no candid reader will refuse to admire the 
subtilty of reasoning and the mastery of style which are 
here evinced by a mere youth. 

At Tanyralt, as at all other places, Shelley's benevo- 
lence was in constant activity. The reader has already 
seen how munificently it was exercised when the sea 



66 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

broke through the feeble barrier on which the safety of 
many of the poor cottagers depended ; but this, though 
the most conspicuous, was not the only instance. Mr. 
Maddox, in subsequent years, told Captain Medwin, a 
relative, of the poet, and one of his biographers, that 
Shelley was constantly relieving the humble and neces- 
sitous, and that he would visit them in their homes, and 
supply them, during the bleak winter months, with food, 
clothes, and fuel. 

Yet this continual beneficence could not - save Shelley 
from an attempt on his life, of a most atrocious and ex- 
traordinary kind ; for the facts will not allow us to hope 
that the horrible scene was the creation of an over-excited 
and almost morbidly sensitive brain. It is true that 
there is something of a nightmare character in the inci- 
dents ; but the testimony of Mrs. Shelley gives the stamp 
of reality to the affair. Miss Westbrook was also in the 
house at the time, and often, in after years, related the 
circumstance as a frightful fact. The details of this 
strange circumstance are given by Shelley and his wife 
in letters to Mr. Hookham : — 

" My dear Sir, 

" I have just escaped an atrocious assassination. Oh ! 
send me 20Z., if you have it ! * You will perhaps hear of me 

no more. " friend, 

" Percy Shelley." 

* The incoherence of the few words here written by Shelley shows 
the agitated state of his mind at the time. It would appear that, 
after sending off the 20Z. for the Hunt subscription, he was in want 
of money. Hence the request to Mr. Hookham for a little temporary 
accommodation, to enable him to make the necessary removal from 
Tanyralt 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 67 

Postscript by Mrs. Shelley. 

" Mr. Shelley is so dreadfully nervous to-day from having 
been up all night, that I am afraid what he has written will 
alarm you very much. We intend to leave this place as soon 
as possible, as our lives are not safe so long as we remain. It 
is no common robber we dread, but a person who is actuated 
by revenge, and who threatens my life, and my sister's as 
well. If you can send us the money, it will greatly add to 
our comfort. 

" Sir, I remain your sincere friend, 

" H. Shelley. 

" T. Hookham, Esq." 

Mr. Hookham answered this letter by sending a remit- 
tance, which was thus acknowledged : — 

"Bangor Ferry, March 6th, 1813. 
" My dear Friend, 

"In the first stage of our journey towards Dublin, we 
met with your letter. How shall I express to you what I felt 
of gratitude, surprise, and pleasure — not so much that the re- 
mittance rescued us from a situation of peculiar perplexity, 
but that one there was, who, by disinterested and unhesitating 
confidence, made amends to our feelings, wounded by the sus- 
picion, coldness, and villany of the world. If the discovery 
of truth be a pleasure of singular purity, how far surpassing 
is the discovery of virtue ! 

" I am now recovered from an illness brought on by watch- 
ing, fatigue, and alarm ; and we are proceeding to Dublin, to 
dissipate the unpleasant impressions associated with the scene 
of our alarm. 

" We expect to be there on the 8th. You shall then hear 
the details of our distresses. The ball of the assassin's pistols 
(he fired at me twice) penetrated my nightgown, and pierced 
the wainscot. He is yet undiscovered, though not unsuspected, 
as you will learn from my next. 

" Unless you knew us all more intimately, you cannot con- 



68 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

ceive with what fervor and sincerity my wife and sister join 
with me to you in gratitude and esteem. 

" Yours ever faithfully and affectionately, 

"Percy B. Shelley. 

" P. S. — Though overwhelmed by our own distresses, we are 
by no means indifferent to those of liberty and virtue. From 
the tenor of your letter, I augur that you have applied the 
20Z. I sent to the benefit of the Hunts. I am anxious to hear 
further of the success of this experiment. My direction is — 
35 Great Cuffe Street, Dublin. By your kindness and gen- 
erosity, we are perfectly relieved from all pecuniary difficul- 
ties. We only wanted a little breathing time, which the rapid- 
ity of our persecutions was unwilling to allow us. We shall 
readily repay the 201. when I hear from my correspondent in 
London ; but when can I repay the friendship, the disinterest- 
edness, and the zeal of your confidence ? 

" T. Hookham, Esq." 

The most complete account of the attack is that con- 
tained in the following letter from Mrs. Shelley to Mr. 
Hookham : ' — 

" 35 Cuffe Street, Stephen's Green, Dublin, 
March 11th, [1813]. 
" My dear Sir, 

" We arrived here last Tuesday, after a most tedious pas- 
sage of forty hours, during the whole of which time we were 
dreadfully ill. I am afraid no diet will prevent us from the 
common lot of suffering, when obliged to take a sea-voyage. 

" Mr. S. promised you a recital of the horrible events that 
caused us to leave Wales. I have undertaken the task, as I 
wish to spare him, in the present nervous state of his health, 
everything that can recall to his mind the horrors of that 
night. 

" On Friday night, the 26th of February, we retired to bed 
between ten and eleven o'clock. We had been in bed about 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 69 

half an hour, when Mr. S. heard a noise proceeding from one 
of the parlors. He immediately went down stairs with two 
pistols, which he had loaded that night, expecting to have 
occasion for them. He went into the billiard-room, where he 
heard footsteps retreating ; he followed into another little 
room, which was called an office. He there saw a man in the 
act of quitting the room, through a glass door which opened 
into the shrubbery. The man then fired at Mr. S., which he 
avoided. Bysshe then fired, but it flashed in the pan. The 
man then knocked Bysshe down, and they struggled on the 
ground. Bysshe then fired his second pistol, which he thought 
wounded him in the shoulder, as he uttered a shriek and got 
up, when he said these words : — ' By God, I will be l^evenged ! 
I will murder your wife ; I will ravish your sister ! By God, 
I will be revenged ! ' He then fled — as we hoped, for the 
night. Our servants were not gone to bed, but were just 
going, when this horrible affair happened. This was about 
eleven o'clock. We all assembled in the parlor, where we 
remained for two hours. Mr. S. then advised us to retire, 
thinking it impossible he would make a second attack. We 
left Bysshe and one man-servant, who had only arrived that 
day, and who knew nothing of the house, to sit up. I had 
been in bed three hours, when I heard a pistol go off. I im- 
mediately ran down stairs, when I perceived that Bysshe's 
flannel gown had been shot through, and the window-curtain. 
Bysshe had sent Daniel to see what hour it was, when he 
heard a noise at the window. He went there, and a man 
thrust his arm through the glass, and fired at him. Thank 
Heaven ! the ball went through his gown, and he remained 
unhurt. Mr. S. happened to stand sideways ; had he stood 
fronting, the ball must have killed him. Bysshe fired his pis- 
tol, but it would not go off; he then aimed a blow at him 
with an old sword, which we found in the house. The assassin 
attempted to get the sword from him, and just as he was 
getting it away, Dan rushed into the room, when he made his 
escape. 



70 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" This was at four in the morning. It had been a most dread- 
ful night ; the wind was as loud as thunder, and the rain de- 
scended in torrents. Nothing has been heard of him ; and 
we have every reason to believe it was no stranger, as there is 
a man of the name of Leeson, who, the next morning that it 
happened, went and told the shopkeepers of Tremadoc that 
it was a tale of Mr. Shelley's, to impose upon them, that he 
might leave the country without paying his bills. This they 
believed, and none of them attempted to do anything towards 
his discovery. 

" We left Tanyralt on Saturday, and stayed, till everything 
was ready for our leaving the place, at the Solicitor- General 
of the county's house, who lived seven miles from us. This 
Mr. Leeson had been heard to say, that he was determined to 
drive us out of the country. He once happened to get hold 
of a little pamphlet which Mr. S. had printed in Dublin ; this 
he sent up to Government. In fact, he was forever saying 
something against us, and that because we were determined 
not to admit him to our house, because we had heard his char- 
acter, and, from many acts of , his, we found that he was malig- 
nant to the greatest degree, and cruel. 

" The pleasure we experienced on reading your letter you^ 
may conceive, at the time when every one seemed to be plot- 
ting against us. 

" Pardon me, if I wound your feelings by dwelling on this 
subject. Your conduct has made a deep impression upon our 
minds, which no length of time can erase. Would that all 
mankind were like thee ! " 

After a short residence in Dublin, and a tour to the 
Lakes of Killarney, the Shelleys returned to London in 
May, 1813, and remained there until after the confine- 
ment of Mrs. Shelley, who, early in the summer, gave 
birth to a daughter, afterwards christened Ianthe Eliza. 

Mr. Peacock, one of the poet's most intimate friends 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 71 

at that time, lias recently given in Fraser's Magazine an 
interesting account of Shelley's way of pleasing his in- 
fant. 

" He was extremely fond of his child/' says Mr. Pea- 
cock, " and would walk up and down a room with it in 
his arms for a long time together, singing to it a mo- 
notonous melody of his own making, which ran on the 
repetition of a word of his own coining. His song was 
— ' Yahmani, yahmani, yahmani, yahmani ! ' It did not 
please me, but, what was more important, it pleased the 
child, and lulled it wdien it was fretful. Shelley w^as ex- 
tremely fond of his children. He w T as preeminently an 
affectionate father. But to this first-born there were ac- 
companiments which did not please him. The child had 
a wet-nurse whom he did not like, and was much looked 
after by his wife's sister, whom he intensely disliked. 
I have often thought that, if Harriet had nursed her own 
child, and if this sister had not lived with them, the link 
of their married love would not have been so readily 
broken." 

Shelley was now in severe pecuniary distress ; for he 
received nothing from his father beyond the stipulated 
200Z. a year, and he had not found it possible to raise 
money on his future expectations. For the purpose of 
economy he retired to a small cottage in Berkshire, which 
bore the lofty title of High Elms, and where, in the so- 
ciety of a few friends, varied by frequent visits to London, 
some months glided by happily and quietly. 

During this summer, Shelley paid a visit to Field Place, 
and his reception there is graphically told by a friend of 



72 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the family (Captain Kennedy), who was then staying in 
the house : — 

" At this time I had not seen Shelley ; but the servants, 
especially the old butler, Laker, had spoken of him to me. 
He seemed to have won the hearts of the whole house- 
hold. Mrs. Shelley often spoke to me of her son ; her 
heart yearned after him with all the fondness of a mother's 
love. It was during the absence of his father and the 
three youngest children that the natural desire of a 
mother to see her son induced her to propose that he 
should pay her a short visit. At this time he resided 
somewhere in the country with his first wife and their 
only child, Ian the. He walked from his house until within 
a few miles of Field Place, when a farmer gave him a 
seat in his travelling cart. As he passed along, the far- 
mer, ignorant of the quality of his companion, amused 
Bysshe with descriptions of the country and its inhabi- 
tants. When Field Place came in sight, he told whose 
seat it was ; and, as the most remarkable incident con- 
nected with the family, that young Master Shelley seldom 
went to church. He arrived at Field Place exceedingly 
fatigued. I came there the following morning to meet 
him. I found him with his mother and his two elder 
sisters in a small room off the drawing-room, which they 
had named Confusion Hall. 

" He received me with frankness and kindliness, as if 
he had known me from childhood, and at once won my 
heart. I fancy I see him now, as he sat by the window, 
and hear his voice, the tones of which impressed me with 
his sincerity and simplicity. His resemblance to his 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROWS. 73 

sister Elizabeth was as striking as if they had been 
twins. His eyes were most expressive, his complexion 
beautifully fair, his features exquisitely fine ; his hair was 
dark, and no peculiar attention to its arrangement was 
manifest. In person he was slender and gentlemanlike, 
but inclined to L'toop ; his gait was decidedly not military. 
The general appearance indicated great delicacy of con- 
stitution. One would at once pronounce of him that he 
was something different from other men. There was an 
earnestness in his manner, and such perfect gentleness of 
breeding, and freedom from everything artificial, as 
charmed every one. I never met a man who so imme- 
diately won upon me. 

" The generosity of his disposition and utter unself- 
ishness imposed upon him the necessity of strict self-denial 
in personal comforts. Consequently, he was obliged to 
be most economical in his dress. He one day asked us 
how we liked his coat, the only one he had brought with 
him. We said it was very nice ; it looked as if new. 
' Well,' said he, ' it is an old black coat which I have 
had done up, and smartened with metal buttons and a vel- 
vet collar.' 

" As it was not desirable that Bysshe's presence in the 
country should be known, we arranged that, walking out ? ^ 
he should wear my scarlet uniform, and that I should 
assume his outer garments. So he donned the soldier's 
dress, and sallied forth. His head was so remarkably 
small that, though mine be not large, the cap came down 
over his eyes, the peak resting on his nose, and it had to 
be stuffed before it would fit him. His hat just stuck on 

4 



74 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the crown of my head. He certainly looked like any- 
thing but a soldier. The metamorphosis was very amus- 
ing ; he enjoyed it much, and made himself perfectly at 
home in his unwonted garb. We gave him the name of 
Captain Jones, under which name we used to talk of him 
after his departure ; but, with all our care, Bysshe's visit 
could not be kept a secret. 

" I chanced to mention the name of Sir James Macin- 
tosh, of whom he expressed the highest admiration. He 
told me Sir James was intimate with Godwin, to whom, 
he said, he owed everything; from whose book, Political 
Justice, he had derived all that was valuable in knowledge 
and virtue. He discoursed with eloquence and enthusi- 
asm ; but his views seemed to me exquisitely metaphysi- 
cal, and by no means clear, precise, or decided. He told 
me that he had already read the Bible four times. He 
was then only twenty years old.* He spoke of the Su- 
preme Being as of infinite mercy and benevolence. He 
disclosed no fixed views of spiritual things ; all seemed 
wild and fanciful. He said that he once thought the 
surrounding atmosphere was peopled with the spirits of 
the departed. He reasoned and spoke as a perfect gen- 
tleman, and treated my arguments, boy as I was (I had 
lately completed my sixteenth year), with as much con- 
sideration and respect as if I had been his equal in ability 
and attainments. 

" Shelley was one of the most sensitive of human be- 
ings ; he had a horror of taking life, and looked upon it 

* As this was in the summer of 1813, Shelley must have been 
nearly, if not quite, twenty-one. — Ed. 



POETICAL LABORS AND DOMESTIC SORROAVS. 75 

as a crime. He read poetry with great emphasis and 
solemnity ; one evening he read aloud to us a translation 
of one of Goethe's poems, and at this clay I think I hear 
him. In music he seemed to delight, as a medium of as- 
sociation ; the tunes which had been favorites in boyhood 
charmed him. There was one, which he played several 
times on the piano with one hand, which seemed to absorb 
him ; it was an exceedingly simple air, which, I under- 
stand, his earliest love (Harriet Grove) was wont to play 
for him. He soon left us, and I never saw him after- 
wards ; but I can never forget him. It was his last visit 
to Field Place. He was an amiable, gentle being." 

Towards the close of 1813, estrangements, which for 
some time had been slowly growing between Mr. and 
Mrs. Shelley came to a crisis. Separation ensued; and 
Mrs. Shelley returned to her father's house. Here she 
gave birth to her second child, — a son, who died in 
1826. 

The occurrences of this painful epoch in Shelley's life, 
and of the causes which led to them, I am spared from 
relating. In Mary Shelley's own words : — " This is 
not the time to relate the truth ; and I should reject any 
coloring of the truth. No account of these events has 
ever been given at all approaching reality in their de- 
tails, either as regards himself or others ; nor shall I 
further allude to them than to remark that the errors of 
action committed by a man as noble and generous as 
Shelley, may, as far as he only is concerned, be fearlessly 
avowed by those who loved him, in the firm conviction 
that, were they judged impartially, his character would 



76 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

stand in fairer and brighter light than that of any con- 
temporary." 

Of those remaining who were intimate with Shelley 
at this time, each has given us a different version of this 
sad event, colored by his own views and personal feel- 
ings. Evidently Shelley confided to none of these 
friends. We, who bear his name, and are of his family, 
have in our possession papers written by his own hand, 
which in after years may make the story of his life com- 
plete, and which few now living, except Shelley's own 
children, have ever perused. 

One mistake which has gone forth to the world, we 
feel ourselves called upon positively to contradict. 

Harriet's death has sometimes been ascribed to Shel- 
ley. This is entirely false. There was no immediate 
connection whatever between her tragic end and any 
conduct on the part of her husband. It is true, however, 
that it was a permanent source of the deepest sorrow to 
him ; for never during all his after life did the dark 
shade depart which had fallen on his gentle and sensitive 
nature from the self-sought grave of the companion of his 
early youth. 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 77 



CHAPTER VII. 

ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND : JUDGMENT OF THE 
LORD CHANCELLOR I THE " REVOLT OF ISLAM." 

To the family of Godwin, Shelley had, from the period 
of his self-introduction at Keswick, been an object of 
interest ; and the acquaintanceship which had sprung up 
between them during the poet's occasional visits to Lon- 
don had grown into a cordial friendship. It was in the 
society and sympathy of the Godwins that Shelley sought 
and found some relief in his present sorrow. He was 
still extremely young. His anguish, his isolation, his 
difference from other men, his gifts of genius and elo- 
quent enthusiasm, made a deep impression on Godwin's 
daughter Mary, now a girl of sixteen, who had been ac- 
customed to hear Shelley spoken of as something rare 
and strange. To her, as they met one eventful day in 
St. Pancras Churchyard, by her mother's grave, Bysshe, 
in burning words, poured forth the tale of his wild past — 
how he had suffered, how he had been misled, and how, 
if supported by her love, he hoped in future years to en- 
roll his name with the wise and good who had done battle 
for their fellow-men, and been true through all adverse 
storms to the cause of humanity. 



78 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Unhesitatingly, she placed her hand in his, and linked 
her fortune with his own ; and most truthfully, as the 
remaining portions of these Memorials will prove, was 
the pledge of both redeemed. 

The theories in w r hich the daughter of the authors of 
Political Justice and of the Rights of Woman had been 
educated, spared her from any conflict between her duty 
and her affection. For she was the child of parents 
whose writings had had for their object to prove that 
marriage was one among the many institutions which a 
new era in the history of mankind was about to sweep 
away. By her father, whom she loved — by the writings 
of her mother, whom she had been taught to venerate — 
these doctrines had been rendered familiar to her mind. 
It was, therefore, natural that she should listen to the 
dictates of her own heart, and willingly unite her fate 
with one who was so worthy of her love. 

The short peace of 1814 having opened the Continent, 
they went abroad, and, having visited some of the most 
magnificent scenes of Switzerland, returned to England 
from Lucerne by the Reuss and the Rhine. This river- 
navigation enchanted Shelley. He was never so happy 
as when he was in a boat, and, " in his favorite poem of 
Thalaba" as Mrs. Shelley records in her notes to her 
husband's works, " his imagination had been excited by a 
description of such a voyage." His pleasure must there- 
fore have been keen. 

On the death of Sir Bysshe, in January, 1815, 
Shelley's father inherited the title and the accumulated 
wealth. With respect to this event, Shelley records, in 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 79 

a journal which he kept : — " The will has been opened, 
and I am referred to Whitton " (Sir Timothy's legal 
adviser). "My father would not allow me to enter 
Field Place." Shelley Sidney — a half-brother of Sir 
Timothy — expressed his opinion that the will was a 
most extraordinary one. The death of the old baronet, 
however, placed the young poet in a better pecuniary po- 
sition than he had ever yet occupied. Being now the 
direct heir to the estates, he could the more readily raise 
money for his immediate necessities ; besides which, his 
father, yielding to the pressure of advice, allowed him 
1,000/. a year. He was thus relieved from the painful 
stringency of his former condition. 

In the winter months, at the commencement of this 
year, Shelley walked a hospital, for the purpose of 
acquiring some slight know-ledge of surgery, which might 
enable him to alleviate the sufferings of the poor. Yet, 
at the very time he subjected himself to these painful and 
often harrowing experiences, he was himself in the most 
delicate state of health. In the spring he w r as said by an 
eminent physician to be in a rapid consumption ; and so 
far had the malady progressed that abscesses were formed 
on his lungs. His fragile nature was shaken by frequent 
paroxysms of pain, during which he was often obliged to 
lie on the ground, or to have recourse to the perilous 
sedative of laudanum. He was at this time living in 
London. The symptoms of pulmonary disorder subse- 
quently left him w r ith a suddenness and completeness 
which seem to be unaccountable. A thorough change 
in his system supervened, and he was never again threat- 



80 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

ened with consumption ; though he was at no time 
healthy, or free from the assaults of pain. This change, 
however, did not take place until some few years after 
the present date. 

The summer of 1815 was partly occupied by a tour 
along the southern coast of Devonshire and a visit to 
Clifton. On the completion of these trips, Shelley 
rented a house on Bishopsgate Heath, on the borders 
of Windsor Forest, the air of which neighborhood did 
his health considerable service. The conclusion of the 
summer was very fine, and all things contributed to 
afford the worn spirits of Bysshe a brief interspace of 
happiness and calm. He visited the source of the 
Thames, together with a few friends, and on this occa- 
sion again indulged in the pleasure of boating — that 
pleasure which was in the end to lure him to his death. 
The party proceeded from Windsor to Cricklade in a 
wherry. " His beautiful stanzas in the churchyard of 
Lechlade," says Mrs. Shelley, in her collected edition 
of the poems, " were written on that occasion. Alastor 
was composed on his return. He spent his days under 
the oak shades of Windsor Great Park ; and the mas- 
nificent woodland was a fitting study to inspire the 
various descriptions of forest scenery we find in the 
poem." This was the first production in verse which 
Shelley gave openly to the world. 

In 1816, he again visited Switzerland, and made the 
acquaintance of Lord Byron, for the first time, at Seche- 
ron's hotel at Geneva, where the former was staying 
when the latter arrived there. Both poets being ardent 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 81 

lovers of boating, they joined in the purchase of a small 
craft, in which, evening after evening, they made sailing 
excursions on the lake of Geneva, accompanied by Sig- 
nor Polidori, a friend of Byron, though by no means of 
Shelley, who disliked him on account of the morbid 
vanity he was constantly exhibiting. Bysshe afterwards 
rented a house on the banks of the lake, and passed 
many days alone in the boat, reading or meditating, and 
resigning himself to the summer influences of winds and 
waters. On one occasion, when Shelley and Byron 
were sailing from Meillerie to St. Gingoux, a storm came 
on ; the vessel was injured, and shipped a good deal of 
water ; and, to make matters still worse, one of the boat- 
men stupidly mismanaged the sail. The loss of the boat 
seemed inevitable ; and Shelley, being unable to swim, 
made up his mind that he should have to meet that 
death for which he was in fact only reserved until a 
later period. But the vessel righted, and got safely to 
the shore. 

Mrs. Shelley has recorded that her husband's lines 
on Mont Blanc, and his Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, 
were written at this time. She thinks, however, that 
the genius of Shelley was in some measure checked by 
his association with Byron, "whose nature was utterly 
dissimilar to his own ; " but that, at the same time, 
Shelley had a corresponding influence on Byron, as 
evinced in the abstractions of Ghilde Harold, then flow- 
ing from its author's pen. 

The period was, indeed, rich in the production of 
works of genius. The famous " Monk " Lewis, as he is 

4^ 



82 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

called, joined the society of the two English poets, and 
during some rainy weather he set them talking about 
ghost stories. Each was to write one of these fasci- 
nating toys of the imagination ; and Mrs. Shelley's 
extraordinary romance of Frankenstein was the result, 
as far as herself was concerned, and indeed the only one 
of the proposed narratives wdiich was completed. One 
evening, the recital by Lord Byron of the commence- 
ment of Coleridge's spectral poem, Ohristahel, conjured 
up in Shelley's mind, by an association of ideas, a vision 
of a beautiful woman with four eyes, two of which were 
glancing at him from out of her breast ; and he rushed 
from the room in an agony of horror. 

On the 30th of December, 1816 (after his return to 
England), Shelley's second marriage took place. She 
who was thenceforward the companion of his existence 
has left us some of the most interesting particulars 
which we possess of his brief remnant of life, and of 
his lamentable end. Her influence over him was of an 
important kind. His anxiety to aid the intelligence 
of the less instructed, and his efforts to promote the 
well-being of the poorer classes of his fellow-creatures, 
were as vivid and as strenuous as before ; yet his mind, 
by gradually bending to milder influences, divested itself 
of much of that hostile bitterness of thought and ex- 
pression with which he had hitherto attacked those 
political and social abuses which had seemed to him to 
be the principal obstacles to the progressive development 
of mankind. 

His pecuniary struggles, his father's persevering anger, 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. 83 

and the calumnies of his unscrupulous enemies, had no 
longer the same power to embitter his existence, and to 
rouse his darker passions. From them he had now a 
sure refuge. Evil might be without ; but by his hearth 
were sympathy, and encouragement, and love. 

They had fixed upon the neighborhood of Marlow, in 
Buckinghamshire, for their winter quarters. While Shel- 
ley was looking out in this locality for a suitable resi- 
dence, he received the following letter to aid him in his 
researches : — 

" In the choice of a residence, dear Shelley, pray do not be 
too quick, or attach yourself too much to one spot. A house 
with a lawn, near a river or lake, noble trees or divine moun- 
tains — that should be our little mouse-hole to retire to ; but 
never mind this. Give me a garden, and I will thank my love 
for many favors. If you go to London, you will perhaps try 
to procure me a good Livy ; for I wish very much to read it. 
I must be more industrious, especially in learning Latin, which 
I neglected shamefully last summer at intervals ; and those 

periods of not reading at all put me back very far 

Adieu ! Love me tenderly, and think of me with affection 
whenever anything pleases you greatly." 

On the 22d of March, Shelley wrote as follows to 
Godwin : — 

"My dear Godwin, 

" It was spring when I wrote to you, and winter when 
your answer arrived. But the frost is very transitory ; every 
bud is ready to burst into leaf. It is a nice distinction you 
make between the development and the complete expansion 
of the leaves. The oak and the chestnut, the latest and the 
earliest parents of foliage, would afford you a still subtler sub- 



84 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

division, which would enable you to defer the visit, from which 
we expect so much delight, for six weeks. I hope we shall 
really see you before that time, and that you will allow the 
chestnut, or any other important tree, as he stands in the 
foreground, to be considered as a virtual representation of the 
rest. 

" Will is quite well, and very beautiful. Mary unites with 
me in presenting her kind remembrances to Mrs. Godwin, and 
begs most affectionate love to you. 

" Yours, 

" P. B. Shelley. 

" Have you read Melincourt ? It would entertain you." 

About this time, Shelley became acquainted, at Leigh 
Hunt's house, at Hampstead, with John Keats, and with 
the brothers James and Horace Smith. The genius of 
the former he at once recognized, and celebrated it, in a 
subsequent year, in the eloquent poem, Adonais. For 
Horace Smith Shelley had the most affectionate regard 
— a regard fully deserved by that excellent and warm- 
hearted wit. 

But now came one of the greatest sorrows which 
Shelley ever had to encounter. Up to the time of his 
first wife's death, her children had resided with her and 
with her father ; but, after that event, Shelley claimed 
them. Mr. Westbrook refused to give them up, and car- 
ried the case into Chancery, where he filed a bill, assev- 
erating that the remaining parent of the children was 
unfit to have the charge of them, on account of the 
alleged depravity of his religious and moral opinions, in 
which he designed to bring them up. The case having 
been argued, judgment was pronounced by the Lord 



JUDGMENT OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 85 

Chancellor (Eldon), and it was decreed that Shelley 
should not be allowed to have the custody of his own 
offspring. He was forced, however, to set aside 200/. a 
year for their support ; and this sum was deducted by 
Sir Timothy from his son's annuity. The children were 
committed to the care of a clergyman of the Church of 
England, and were of course educated in those principles 
which their father looked on with aversion. The son, as 
the reader has already seen, died when a youth ; the 
daughter is still living. 

As to the monstrous injustice of this decree, most men 
are now agreed ; and no further remark need be made 
on so repellent a subject, except an expression of aston- 
ishment that the name of Dr. Parr should be found 
among Shelley's opponents. His testimony was given, 
and quoted very frequently, as to the respectability of 
the persons appointed, under Chancery, as guardians of 
the children. 

The ensuing letter from the poet's legal adviser, writ- 
ten before the decision of the Lord Chancellor, contains 
some points of interest : — 



" Gray's Inn y 5t7i Aug. 1817. 
" My dear Sir, 

" I enclose you the Master's report on the subject of the 
children, which I am sorry to say is against you. I am taking 
the necessary proceedings to bring the question before the 
Lord Chancellor, and it will come on for his decision some 
time next week, or, at any rate, before he rises, which is the 
23d inst. One comfort is, that there could not be a weaker 
case against you than this is. The only support of Mr. Ken- 



86 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

dall * is Dr. Parr, who is himself open to a great deal of ob- 
servation, and who, except as a Greek scholar, does not stand 
high in any one's opinion. 

" The Master, in the first place, omits to inquire what would 
be a proper plan for the education of the children, though or- 
dered by the Chancellor to do so; and then he goes on to 
approve a proposal that Mr. Kendall should stand, in all re- 
spects, loco parentis, when the Lord Chancellor himself says 
that he has not yet made up his mind as to how far he would 
interfere against parental authority. 

" I should think that the plaintiffs will find it a difficult 
matter to prevail on the Chancellor to confirm this unnatural 
proposal of abandoning these infants to the care of a stranger, 
of whom nobody interested in the welfare of the children 
knows anything, — who lives at a considerable distance from 
all the family, — who, from his ignorance of all the family, can 
have no object but to make the most of the children as a pecu- 
niary transaction, — in short, who has nothing to recommend 
him but the affidavit of the venerable bridegroom, Dr. Parr.f 

" As I objected to liberties being taken with your income, 
you will observe that the proposal is altered. 

" Your faithful and obedient servant, 

"P. W. Loxgdill." 

Moved to fiery wrath by the cruel injustice which had 
been dealt out to him, Shelley wrote a terrible curse 
on the Lord Chancellor, which Mrs. Shelley published 
among her husband's poems. The outraged father speaks 
grandly and fearfully in these lines : — 

; ' By thy most impious Hell, and all its terrors; 
By all the grief, the madness, and the guilt 

* One of the persons recommended as guardians for the children. 
—Ed. 

f Dr. Parr married, for the second time, in 1816, though then in his 
seventieth year. — Ed. 



JUDGMENT OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 87 

Of thine impostures, which must be their errors, 
That sand on which thy crumbling power is built : 

^T 'f? ^ ^ ^K T\ 

" By all the hate which checks a father's love, 
By all the scorn which kills a father's care; 
By those most impious hands that dared remove 

Nature's high bounds — by thee — and by despair,— 

" Yes ! the despair which bids a father groan, 
And cry, ' My children are no longer mine : 
The blood within those veins may be mine own, 
But, Tyrant, their polluted souls are thine! ' — 

" I curse thee, though I hate thee not. slave ! 

If thou could'st quench the earth-consuming hell 
Of which thou art a demon, on thy grave 
This curse should be a blessing. Fare thee well! " 

In his Masque of Anarchy (written in 1819), Shelley 
has two stanzas, hot with scorn and sarcasm, on the man 
who had robbed him of his offspring : — 

" Next came Fraud, and he had on, 
Like Lord Eldon, an ermine gown : 
His big tears (for he wept well) 
Turn'd to mill-stones as they fell: 

" And the little children, who 
Round his feet play'd to and fro, 
Thinking every tear a gem, 
Had their brains knock' d out by them.' 1 '' 

Towards the end of 1817, Shelley was obliged, owing 
to pecuniary difficulties, to stay for some time at the 
house of Leigh Hunt, who had by that time removed to 
Lisson Grove. He had been made answerable for cer- 



88 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

tain liabilities incurred by his first wife, and the creditors 
pressed him severely ; though until the demands were 
urged on him, he had no knowledge that any such claims 
existed ; nor had he now an opportunity of verifying 
their exactness. He even ran some danger of arrest ; 
but matters were at length settled. In the mean while, 
Mrs. Shelley resided at Mario w, in company with her 
children, and with a little daughter of Lord Byron, called 
Allegra, and sometimes Alba. Shelley returned to Mar- 
low in the autumn. 

On December 7th, he thus addressed Godwin : — 

"Marlow, December 7th, 1817. 
" My dear Godwin, 

" To begin with the subject of most immediate interest : 
close with Richardson ; and when I say this, what relief should 
I not feel from a thousand distressing emotions, if I could be- 
lieve that he was in earnest in his offer ! I have not heard 
from Longdill, though I wish earnestly for information. 

" My health has been materially worse. My feelings at 
intervals are of a deadly and torpid kind, or awakened to 
a state of such unnatural and keen excitement, that, only to 
instance the organ of sight, I find the very blades of grass 
and the boughs of distant trees present themselves to me with 
microscopical distinctness. Towards evening I sink into a 
state of lethargy and inanimation, and often remain for hours 
on the sofa, between sleep and waking, a prey to the most 
painful irritability of thought. Such, with little intermission, 
is my condition. The hours devoted to study are selected with 
vigilant caution from among these periods of endurance. It 
is not for this that I think of travelling to Italy, even if I knew 
that Italy would relieve me. But I have experienced a deci- 
sive pulmonary attack ; and, although at present it has passed 
away without any very considerable vestige of its existence, yet 



JUDGMENT OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR. 89 

this symptom sufficiently shows the true nature of my disease 
to fcfe consumption. It is to my advantage that this malady is 
in its nature slow, and, if one is sufficiently alive to its ad- 
vances, is susceptible of cure from a warm climate. In the 
event of its assuming any decided shape, it would be my duty 
to go to Italy without delay ; and it is only when that measure 
becomes an indispensable duty that, contrary to both Mary's 
feelings and to mine, as they regard you, I shall go to Italy. 
I need not remind you (besides the mere pain endured by the 
survivors) of the train of evil consequences which my death 
would cause to ensue. I am thus circumstantial and explicit, 
because you seem to have misunderstood me. It is not health, 
but life, that I should seek in Italy ; and that, not for my own 
sake — I feel that I am capable of trampling on all such weak- 
ness — but for the sake of those to whom my life may be a 
source of happiness, utility, security, and honor, and to some 
of whom my death might be all that is the reverse. 

" I ought to say, I cannot persevere in the meat diet. What 
you say of Malthus fills me, as far as my intellect is concerned, 
with life and strength. I believe that I have a most anxious 
desire that the time should quickly come that, even so far as 
you are personally concerned, you should be tranquil and in- 
dependent. But when I consider the intellectual lustre with 
which you clothe this world, and how much the last generation 
of mankind may be benefited by that light, flowing forth with- 
out the intervention of one shadow, I am elevated above all 
thoughts which tend to you or myself as an individual, and 
become, by sympathy, part of those distant and innumerable 
minds to whom your writings must be present. 

" I meant to have written to you about Mandeville * solely ; 
but I was so irritable and weak that I could not write, although 
I thought I had much to say. I have read Mandeville, but I 
must read it again soon, for the interest is of that irresistible 
and overwhelming kind, that the mind, in its influence, is like 
a cloud borne on by an impetuous wind — like one breath- 

* Godwin's novel, so called. — Ed. 



90 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

lessly carried forward, who lias no time to pause, or observe 
the causes of his career. I think the power of Mandeville is 
inferior to nothing you have done ; and, were it not for the 
character of Falkland,* no instance in which you have ex- 
erted that power of creation, which you possess beyond all 
contemporary writers, might compare with it. Falkland is 
still alone ; power is, in Falkland, not, as in Mandeville, tu- 
mult hurried onward by the tempest, but tranquillity standing 
unshaken amid its fiercest rage. But Caleb Williams never 
shakes the deepest soul like Mandeville.- It must be said of 
the latter, you rule with a rod of iron. The picture is never 
bright ; and we wonder whence you drew the darkness with 
which its shades are deepened, until the epithet of tenfold 
might almost cease to be a metaphor. The noun smorfia 
touches some cord within us with such a cold and jarring 
power, that I started, and for some time could scarce believe 
but that I was Mandeville, and that this hideous grin was 
stamped upon my own face. In style and strength of expres- 
sion, Mandeville is wonderfully great, and the energy and the 
sweetness of the sentiments scarcely to be equalled. Clifford's 
character, as mere beauty, is a divine and soothing contrast ; 
and I do not think — if, perhaps, I except (and I know not if 
I ought to do so) the speech of Agathon in the Symposium of 
Plato — that there ever was produced a moral discourse more 
characteristic of all that is admirable and lovely in human 
nature, — more lovely and admirable in itself, — than that of 
Henrietta to Mandeville, as he is recovering from madness. 
Shall I say that, when I discovered that she was pleading all 
this time sweetly for her lover, and when at last she weakly 
abandoned poor Mandeville, I felt an involuntary, and, per- 
haps, an unreasonable pang ? Adieu ! 

" Always most affectionately yours, 

"P. S." 

During the summer and autumn of 1817, Shelley had 
* In the novel of Caleb Williams. — Ed. 



REVOLT OF ISLAM. 91 

written the Revolt of Islam — a poem which was origi- 
nally put forth under the title of Laon and Cythna ; or, 
the Revolution of the Golden City : a Vision of the Nine- 
teenth Century. Mr. Oilier (from whose house proceeded 
the first volume of Keats) was the chief publisher ; and 
some copies of the poem, with the original name, were 
issued a little before Christmas. Some apprehension, on 
the score of the bold doctrines advocated in its pages, 
induced Mr. Oilier to arrest the progress of the work for 
a while, with a view to obtaining some modification of 
particular parts. Hereupon Shelley wrote to his pub- 
lisher a letter, which is a remarkable specimen of the 
courage with which he defied conventional opinions : — 

" Marlow, December 11th, 1817. 
" Dear Sir, 

"It is to be regretted that you did not consult your own 
safety and advantage (if you consider it connected with the 
non-publication of my book) before your declining the publi- 
cation, after having accepted it, would have operated to so 
extensive and serious an injury to my views as now. The 
instances of abuse and menace, which you cite, were such as 
you expected, and were, as I conceived, prepared for. If not, 
it would have been just to me to have given them their due 
weight and consideration before. You foresaw, you foreknew, 
all that these people would say. You do your best to condemn 
my book before it is given forth, because you publish it, and 
then withdraw ; so that no other bookseller will publish it, be- 
cause one has already rejected it. You must be aware of the 
great injury which you prepare for me. If I had never con- 
sulted your advantage, my book would have had a fair hear- 
ing. But now it is first published, and then the publisher, as 
if the author had deceived him as to the contents of the work 
— and as if the inevitable consequence of its publication would 



92 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

be ignominy and punishment — and as if none should dare to 
touch it or look at it — retracts, at a period when nothing but 
the most extraordinary and unforeseen circumstances can jus- 
tify his retraction. 

" I beseech you to reconsider the matter, for your sake no less 
than for my own. Assume the high and the secure ground of 
courage. The people who visit your shop, and the wretched 
bigot who gave his worthless custom to some other bookseller, 
are not the public. The public respect talent ; and a large 
portion of them are already undeceived, with regard to the 
prejudices which my book attacks. You would lose some cus- 
tomers, but you would gain others. Your trade would be 
diverted into a channel more consistent with your own prin- 
ciples. Not to say that a publisher is in no wise pledged to all 
the opinions of his publications, or to any; and that he may 
enter his protest with each copy sold, either against the truth 
or the discretion of the principles of the books he sells. But 
there is a much more important consideration in the case. You 
are, and have been to a certain extent, the publisher. I don't 
believe that, if the book was quietly and regularly published, 
the Government would touch anything of a character so re- 
fined, and so remote from the conceptions of the vulgar. They 
would hesitate before they invaded a member of the higher 
circles of the republic of letters. But, if they see us tremble, 
they will make no distinctions ; they will feel their strength. 
You might bring the arm of the law down on us, by flinching 
now. Directly these scoundrels see that people are afraid of 
them, they seize upon them, and hold them up to mankind as 
criminals already convicted by their own fears. You lay 
yourself prostrate, and they trample on you. How glad they 
would be to seize on any connection of Hunt's, by this most 
powerful of all their arms — the terrors and self-condemnation 
of their victim. Read all the ex officio cases, and see what 
reward booksellers and printers have received for their sub- 
mission. 

" If, contrary to common sense and justice, you resolve to 



REVOLT OF ISLAM. 93 

give me up, you shall receive no detriment from a connection 
with me in small matters, though you determine to inflict so 
serious a one on me in great. You shall not be at a farthing's 
expense. T shall still, so far as my powers extend, do my 
best to promote your interest. On the contrary supposition, 
even admitting you derive no benefit from the book itself — 
and it should be my care that you shall do so — I hold my- 
self ready to make ample indemnity for any loss you may 
sustain. 

" There is one compromise you might make, though that 
would be still injurious to me. Sherwood and Neely wished 
to be the principal publishers. Call on them, and say that it 
was through a mistake that you undertook the principal direc- 
tion of the book, as it was my wish that it should be theirs, 
and that I have written to you to that effect. This, if it 
would be advantageous to you, would be detrimental to, but 
not utterly destructive of my views. To withdraw your name 
entirely, would be to inflict on me a bitter and undeserved 
injury. 

" Let me hear from you by return of post. I hope that you 
will be influenced to fulfil your engagement with me, and 
proceed with the publication, as justice to me, and, indeed, a 
well-understood estimate of your own interest and character, 
demand. I do hope that you will have too much regard to 
the well-chosen motto of your seal * to permit the murmurs of 
a few bigots to outweigh the serious and permanent considera- 
tions presented in this letter. To their remonstrances, you 
have only to reply, ' 1 did not write the book ; I am not re- 
sponsible ; here is the author's address — state your objections 
to him. I do no more than sell it to those who inquire for it ; 
and, if they are not pleased with their bargain, the author 
empowers me to receive the book and to return the money.' 
As to the interference of Government, nothing is more improb- 
able that in any case it would be attempted ; but, if it should, 

* "In omnibus libertas." 



94 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

it would be owing entirely to your perseverance in the ground- 
less apprehensions which dictated your communication received 
this day, and conscious terror would be perverted into an ar- 
gument of guilt. 

" I have just received a most kind and encouraging letter 
from Mr. Moore on the subject of my poem. I have the fair- 
est chance of the public approaching my work with unbiassed 
and unperverted feeling; the fruit of reputation (and you 
know for wliat purposes I value it) is within my reach. It is 
for you, now you have been once named as publisher, and 
have me in your power, to blast all this, and to hold up my 
literary character in the eye of mankind as that of a pro- 
scribed and rejected outcast. And for no evil that I have 
ever done you, but in return for a preference, which, although 
you falsely now esteem injurious to you, was solicited by Hunt, 
and conferred by me, as a source and a proof of nothing but 
kind intentions. 

" Dear Sir, 
" I remain your sincere well-wisher, 

"Percy B. Shelley." 

The poet, however, was afterwards convinced of the 
propriety of making certain alterations ; and the work 
was issued in the following January under the title of the 
Revolt of Islam. 

This eloquent and passionate poem was composed partly 
on the Thames, while the poet rocked idly in his boat 
" as it floated under the beech groves of Bisham ; " partly 
during wanderings among the beautiful scenery of the 
neighborhood. The mingled luxuriance and wildness of 
the country surrounding his dwelling gave Shelley the 
greatest delight ; but this pleasure w r as marred by the 
pain arising from the contemplation of the extreme 
poverty everywhere visible in Marlow. Many of the 



REVOLT OF ISLAM. 95 

women of that town were (and are still) lacemakers — 
an occupation which, while it entails loss of health, is 
very ill-paid. The amount of distress existing in the 
wdnter of 1817-18 was very severe ; the poor-laws were 
administered with rigor ; the late war had frightfully aug- 
mented taxation, while the peace had thrown many per- 
sons, who had served as soldiers, back on the rural popu- 
lation ; and a bad harvest had added to the other sources 
of human misery. " Shelley," says his widow, " afforded 
what alleviation he could. In the winter, while bringing; 
out his poem, he had a severe attack of ophthalmia, 
caught while visiting the poor cottages." * 

The poem at once inspired all lovers of literature with 
considerable interest in the author ; but it found many 
severe critics. Even Godwin urged several objections to 
its general style ; to which the poet replied in an interest- 
ing letter (dated December 11th, 1817), containing a 
very deeply-felt and accurate estimate of the peculiar 
tendencies of his own mind. 

" I have read and considered," he writes, " all that you 
say about my general powers, and the particular instance 
of the poem in which I have attempted to develop them. 
Nothing can be more satisfactory to me than the interest 
which your admonitions express. But I think you are 
"mistaken in some points with regard to the peculiar na- 
ture of my powers, whatever be their amount. I listened 
with deference and self-suspicion to your censures of Laon 
and Cythna ; but the productions of mine which you 
commend hold a very low place in my own esteem, and 
* Note to the Revolt of Islam in the collected edition of the Poems. 



96 SHELLEY MEMORIALS 

this reassured me, in some degree at least. The poem 
was produced by a series of thoughts which filled my 
mind with unbounded and sustained enthusiasm. I felt 
the precariousness of my life, and I resolved in this book 
to leave some records of myself. Much of what the 
volume contains was written with the same feeling, as 
real, though not so prophetic, as the communications of a 
dying man. I never presumed, indeed, to consider it 
anything approaching to faultless ; but, when I considered 
contemporary productions of the same apparent preten- 
sions, I will own that I was filled with confidence. I felt 
that it was in many respects a genuine picture of my own 
mind. I felt that the sentiments were true, not assumed ; 
and in this have I long believed — that my power consists 
in sympathy, and that part of imagination which relates 
to sentiment and contemplation. I am formed, if for 
anything not in common with the herd of mankind, to 
apprehend minute and remote distinctions of feeling, 
whether relative to external nature or the living beings 
which surround us, and to communicate the conceptions 
which result from considering either the moral or the 

material universe as a whole Yet, after all, 

I cannot but be conscious, in much of what I write, of an 
absence of that tranquillity which is the attribute and ac- 
companiment of power. This feeling alone would make* 
your most kind and wise admonitions, on the subject of 
the economy of intellectual force, valuable to me. And, 
if I live, or if I see any trust in coming years, doubt not 
but that I shall do something, whatever it may be, which 
a serious and earnest estimate of my powers will suggest 



REVOLT OF ISLAM. 97 

to me, and which will be in every respect accommodated 
to their utmost limits. " 

It is not difficult to understand why Godwin failed to 
appreciate the new production of his son-in-law. He 
had formed his tastes in poetry by a life-long perusal of 
our old English masters — the men of the Shakspearean 
and Miltonic eras ; and it was impossible that he could 
have gone to a better school. But the poetry of Shelley 
— excepting in as far as it was inspired, in its metaphysi- 
cal part, by the genius of ancient Greece — was essen- 
tially modern in its character. It mingled the impalpable 
suggestions of mysticism with images of exotic splendor, 
tropical in the heat and glory of their hues, touched with 
a light that seemed to dawn from some remote and super- 
natural future, and often dim with the too great intensity 
of the writer's emotions and the excessive radiance in 
which he robed his subtle imaginings. The practical, 
acute, clear mind of Godwin could not live, with any com- 
fort to itself, in this region of ethereal, though sublime 
magnificence ; neither his temperament nor his intellect- 
ual habits fitted him for deriving any high degree of 
pleasure from a practice so opposed to his own. But 
Shelley has helped to make the times more poetical ; and 
the flame-like energy and grandeur, the tumultuous pas- 
sion, and the strange visionary beauty of the Revolt of 
Islam are now universally acknowledged. 

In the same year, Shelley also wrote the highly mys- 
tical fragments of Prince Athanase — fragments, how- 
ever, full of beauty and music ; a large part of Rosalind 
and Helen ; a few small poems ; and a pamphlet advo- 



98 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

eating Parliamentary Reform, published under the signa- 
ture of the " Hermit of Mario w." This political work 
is remarkable for the statesmanlike calmness of the 
writer's opinions, and the moderation of his demands. 
Shelley here proposed that committees should be formed 
with a view to polling the entire people on the subject 
which was then, as now, agitating the whole nation. He 
disavowed any wish to establish universal suffrage at 
once, or to do away with monarchy and aristocracy, 
while so large a proportion of the people remained dis- 
qualified by ignorance from sharing in the government 
of the country, though he looked forward to a time when 
the world would be enabled to " disregard the symbols 
of its childhood ; " and he suggested that the qualification 
for the suffrage should be the registry of the voter's 
name as one who paid a certain small sum in direct 
taxes. Such were the views of a political thinker who 
was equally removed from being a Tory or a dema- 
gogue. 

At the end of this year (1817), a relapse of the 
severe attack of ophthalmia, caught from his visits to 
the poor cottagers in his neighborhood, deprived Shelley 
of his usual resource of reading. In looking over the 
journal in which, from day to day, Mrs. Shelley was 
in the habit of noting their occupations, as well as pass- 
ing events, one is struck with wonder at the number 
of books which they read in the course of the year. At 
home or travelling — before breakfast, or waiting for 
the mid-day meal — by the side of a stream, or on the 
ascent of a mountain — a book was never absent from 



REVOLT OF ISLAM. 



99 



the hands of one or the other ; and there were never 
two books ; one read while the other listened. The 
catalogue of works perused, which I subjoin, would seem 
to require the unremitting attention of unfettered lei- 
sure ; yet at this time Shelley was greatly occupied with 
affairs of business, and his mind was much harassed 
by the Chancery suit with regard to his children. 



Greek. 



" List of Books read by 

Symposium of Plato. 

Plays of vEschylus. 

Plays of Sophocles^ 

Iliad of Homer. 

Arriani Historia India?. 

Homer's Hymns, 

Histoire de la Eevolution Fran- 
chise. 

Apuleius. 

Metamorphoses — Latin. 

Coleridge's Biographia Litera- 
ria. 

Political Justice. 

Eights of Man. 

Elphinstone's Embassy. 

Several volumes of Gibbon. 

Two volumes of Lord Chester- 
field's Letters. 

Coleridge's Lay Sermons. 



Shelley and Mary in 1817. 

Memoirs of Count Grammont. 

S omnium Scipionis. 

Eoderick Eandom. 

Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia. 

Beaumont and Fletcher — three 

plays. 
Waverley. 

Epistolse Plinii Secundi. 
Vita Julii Caesari. — Suetonius. 
Davis's Travels in America. 
Manuscrit venu de St. He'lene. 
Buffon's Theorie de la Terre. 
Lettres Persiennes. 
Moliere's George Dandin. 
La Nouvelle Heloise. 
Godwin's Miscellanies. 
Spenser's Faery Queene. 
First volume of Hume's Essays. 
Besides many novels, poems, &c. 



L.0FC. 



100 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

ITALY: 1818. 

The year 1818 was memorable in the life of Shelley, 
on account of his having at that date quitted England, 
to which he was destined never .to return. The gen- 
eral state of his health, together with other motives, 
induced him to seek a more genial climate in the south 
of Europe. One of his most powerful reasons was a 
fear lest the Lord Chancellor might follow out some 
vague threat which he had uttered in delivering judg- 
ment, and deprive him of his infant son by his second 
wife. No attempt was made to act on this threat; but 
so much did Shelley fear that the outrage would be 
committed, that he addressed the child (who after- 
wards died at Rome) in some beautiful stanzas, sig- 
nifying his readiness to abandon his country forever, 
rather than be parted from another of his offspring : — 

" The billows on the beach are leaping around it ; 
The bark is weak and frail; 
The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it 
Darkly strew the gale 



ITALY. 101 

Come with me, thou delightful child ! 
Come with me ! Though the wave is wild 
And the winds are loose, we must not stay, 
Or the slaves of law may rend thee away. 
* * * * * 

"Best, rest! shriek not, thou gentle child! — 

The rocking of the boat thou fearest, 
And the cold spray, and the clamor wild? 

There, sit between us two, thou dearest, — 
Me and thy mother. Well we know 
The storm at which thou tremblest so, 
With all its dark and hungry graves, 
Less cruel than the savage slaves 
Who hunt thee o'er these sheltering waves. 

" This hour will in thy memory 

Be a dream of days forgotten : 
We soon shall dwell by the azure sea 

Of serene and golden Italy, 

Or Greece, the Mother of the Free. 
And I will teach thine infant tongue 

To call upon their heroes old 

In their own language, and will mould 
Thy growing spirit in the flame 
Of Grecian lore ; that, by such name, 
A patriot's birthright thou may'st claim." 

In the early part of the year, Shelley was much occu- 
pied with matters of business in London ; but in March 
they started for Italy. They went thither direct, avoid- 
ing even Paris, and did not pause till they arrived at 
Milan. From this city, the little Allegra was sent, under 
the care of a nurse, to her father at Venice. 

The removal to Italy was advantageous to Shelley in 



102 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

almost every respect. It is true that he left behind him 
friends to whom he was attached ; but cares of various 
kinds, many of them springing from his lavish gener- 
osity, crowded round him in his native country, and the 
climate afflicted him with extreme suffering. His great- 
est pleasure — the free enjoyment of natural scenery — 
was marred by this sensitiveness to the influence of Eng- 
lish weather. 

The very first aspect of Italy (as Mrs. Shelley has 
recorded) enchanted him. The land appeared like "a 
garden of delight placed beneath a clearer and brighter 
heaven than any he had lived under before. He wrote 
long descriptive letters during the first year of his resi- 
dence ; " and in these we see, not merely the consum- 
mate handling of a master of prose composition, but a 
poet's appreciation of all forms of loveliness, whether of 
nature or of art. 

A very romantic story touching this period of Shel- 
ley's life is told by Captain Medwin. He asserts that a 
married lady introduced herself to the poet in the year 
1816, shortly before his departure for Switzerland, and, 
concealing her name, told him that his many virtues and 
the grandeur of his opinions in politics, morals, and re- 
ligion, had inspired her with such an ardent passion for 
him that she had resolved on abandoning her husband, 
her family, and her friends, with a view to linking her 
fortunes to those of Shelley. 

Of this strange narrative, it will be sufficient to say 
here that not the slightest allusion to it is to be found in 
any of the family documents. 



ITALY. 103 

The Shelleys stayed a month at Milan; and, after 
visiting the Lake of Como, proceeded to Leghorn, where 
they became acquainted with Mrs. Gisborne, a lady who 
had formerly been a most intimate friend of Mary Woll- 
stonecraft (Mrs. Shelley's mother). The thoughtful char- 
acter and amiable disposition of this lady seem to have 
bound the whole party in ties of friendship, which con- 
tinued unbroken till the end. 

At the Baths of Lucca, where the poet and his wife 
next went, Rosalind and Helen, begun at Marlow, was 
finished, at the request of Mrs. Shelley. Thence, in 
August, Shelley visited Venice ; and, circumstances ren- 
dering it advisable that he should remain near at hand 
for a few weeks, he resided during that time at a villa 
which Lord Byron rented at Este, and which was kindly 
placed at his disposal. Here he was joined by his family, 
and here also more than one literary work was prose- 
cuted. / Capuccini (such was the name of the residence) 
is described by Mrs. Shelley as " a villa built on the site 
of a Capuchin convent, demolished when the French sup- 
pressed religious houses. It was situated on the very 
overhanging brow of a low hill at the foot of a range of 
higher ones. The house was cheerful and pleasant; a 
vine-trellised walk — a Pergola, as it is called in Italian 
. — led from the hall -door to a summer-house at the end 
of the garden, which Shelley made his study, and in 
which he began the Prometheus ; and here also, as he 
mentions in a letter, he wrote Jidian and Maddalo. A 
slight ravine, with a road in its depth, divided the garden 
from the hill, on which stood the ruins of the ancient 



104 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

castle of Este ; whose dark, massive wall gave forth an 
echo, and from whose ruined crevices owls and bats flit- 
ted forth at night, as the crescent moon sank behind the 
black and heavy battlements. We looked from the gar- 
den over the wide plain of Lombardj, bounded to the 
west by the far Apennines, while, to the east, the hori- 
zon was lost in misty distance." 

Julian and Maddalo is one of the most fervent, dra- 
matic, and intense of its author's productions ; and yet 
one of the most compact, highly wrought, and mature. 
The descriptions of Italian scenery are wonderfully mi- 
nute and particular, when we consider that the poet had 
been only about half a year in the country. Of the 
magnificence of the word-pictures — especially in that 
gorgeous vision of a Venetian sunset, sphering in a tran- 
sitory glory the sea, the ships, the palaces, the distant 
hills, and the ghastly madhouse — it would be difficult 
to say too much ; while the soliloquy of the poor maniac 
is dusky and thick with human passion and pathos — the 
whole tragedy of a sorrowful life brought within the 
compass of a few pages. The poem, moreover, is inter- 
esting on account of the portraiture given by Shelley of 
Lord Byron, who is figured under the name of Mad- 
dalo — Julian being Shelley himself. The little Allegra 
is also described in lines of gentle pathos which have 
never been surpassed : — 

" The following morn was rainy, cold, and dim : 
Ere Maddalo arose, I call'd on him: 
And, whilst I waited, with his child I play'd; — 
A lovelier toy sweet Nature never made ; 



ITALY. 105 

A serious, subtle, wild, yet gentle being, 

Graceful without design, and unforeseeing; 

With eyes — oh ! speak not of her eyes, which seem 

Twin mirrors of Italian heaven, yet gleam 

With such deep meaning as we never see 

But in the human countenance. With me 

She was a special favorite : I had nurs'd 

Her fine and feeble limbs, when she came first 

To this bleak world; and yet she seem'd to know, 

On second sight, her ancient playfellow, 

Less changed than she was, by six months or so. 

For, after her first shyness was worn out, 

We sat there, rolling billiard balls about, 

When the Count enter' d." 

While they were at Este, their little daughter, Clara, 
showed signs of suffering from the heat of the climate. 
Her indisposition being increased to an alarming extent 
by teething, the parents hastened to Venice for the best 
advice, but discovered at Fusina that, in their agitation, 
they had forgotten the passport. The soldiers on duty 
attempted to prevent their crossing the lagune ; but 
Shelley, with his usual vehemence, augmented by the 
urgent nature of the case, broke through, and they 
reached Venice. Unhappily, it was too late ; the little 
creature died just as they arrived. 

At this period Shelley composed his exquisite descrip- 
tive poem, Lines written among the Euganean Hills. In 
November, he and Mrs. Shelley started southward, and 
on the 1st of December they arrived at Naples. In the 
mean while, they had hastily visited Ferrara, Bologna, 
and Rome, as well as other towns of less note. The 
winter was spent in the hot and indolent city of the 

5 * 



106 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

south ; and here the Shelleys lived very solitarily — too 
much so, according to the opinion of his widow, who 
thinks that a little intellectual society would have done 
great service to the spirits of her husband, now once 
more in a bad state of health, and often plunged into 
extreme gloom. He records this state of mind in his 
Stanzas ivritten in Dejection near Naples (December, 
1818), giving vent to his sorrow in lines which unite the 
utmost gentleness of pathos to the most lovely conceptions 
of poetry and the finest harmonies of verse : — 

" Yet now despair itself is mild, 

Even as the winds and waters are : 
I could lie down like a tired child. 
And weep away the life of care 
Which I have borne, and yet must bear, 
Till death, like sleep, might steal on me, 

And I might feel in the warm air 
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony." 

But this dejection — the result of many causes — gave 
place to a happier mood before the poet was snatched 
away from life. 

The letters pertaining to this year may now follow in 
their regular sequence. 

FROM GODWIN TO SHELLEY. 

" Skinner Street, June 8th, 1818. 
" My dear Shelley, 

" You are in a new country, and must be from day to 
day seeing objects and experiencing sensations, of which T 



ITALY. 107 

should be delighted to hear. Write as to your equal, and, if 
that word is not discordant to your feelings, your friend. It 
would be strange indeed if we could not find topics of com- 
munication that may be gratifying to both. Let each of us 
dwell on those qualities in the other which may contribute 
most to the increase of mutual kindness. It is the judgment 
of the human species, and is fully accordant to my own ex- 
perience, that the arrival and perusal of a letter from an 
absent friend is naturally one of the sources of the most deli- 
cious emotions of which man is susceptible. 

" Since I began this letter, I have conceived the plan of a 
book which is, I think, a great desideratum in English history 
and biography, to be called The Lives of the Commonwealth's 
Men. I would confine myself to ten names : — Sir Henry 
Yane, Henry Martin, Henry Ireton, John Bradshaw, John 
Milton, John Hutchinson, Edmund Ludlow, Oliver St. John, 
Nathaniel Fiennes, Algernon Sidney. The whole might be 
comprised in two volumes, or perhaps in one. It has been the 
mode for more than a hundred and fifty years to load the 
Commonwealth's men (regicides, as they are often called) with 
all the abuse and scurrility that language can furnish. I would 
have them shown as they are — " Nothing extenuate, nor set 
down aught in malice ; " — and perhaps they will be found 
equal to any ten men in the annals of the Roman republic. 
There were great and admirable personages among the Pres- 
byterians — Hampden and Pym, for instance ; these, fortu- 
nately for themselves, died early ; but the Presbyterians have 
this slur upon them, that they contributed most actively, after 
the death of Cromwell, to bring back the King, and thus to 
occasion all the bloody, inhuman, and profligate scenes that 
followed. I would admit none into my list but such to whom 
I could apply Horace's rule — 

1 Servetur ad imum, 
Qualis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet.' 

" Now, this work I shall never write. All that I intended, 



108 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

therefore, was to put down the plan of it in memorandum on 
a page of paper. But in my bed this morning I thought — 
Mary, perhaps, would like to write it ; and I should think she 
is perfectly capable. The books to be consulted would be 
comparatively few : Noble's Memoirs of the Protectorate House 
of Cromwell ; Whitlock's Memorials of English Affairs under 
Charles the First ; Ludlow's Memoirs ; Colonel Hutchinson's 
Memoirs ; the trial of the twenty-nine Regicides ; the trial of 
Sir Henry Yane ; also, dying speeches of Corbet, Okey, and 
Barkstead. In a few instances, as I have observed in my 
letter of advice, the references of these authors might lead to 
further materials. 

" By such a book atf this, the English history, in one of its 
most memorable periods, would be made intelligible, which has 
never yet been the case. It has been slurred and confounded, 
and no grand and consistent picture of the men and their 
characters has ever been made out. There is a strong and 
inveterate prejudice in this country in favor of what these 
heroes styled ' the government of a single person.' I would at 
least have it shown that ten men, some of them never sur- 
passed in ability, perhaps none of them in integrity, in this 
island, devoted themselves in heart and soul, with all their 
powers, to a purer creed. 

" Very affectionately yours, 

" W. Godwin." 



FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

" Casa Bertini, Bagni di Lucca, June 15, 1818. 
"My dear Madam, 

" It is strange, after having been in the habit of visiting 
you daily now for so many days, to have no communication 
with you, and, after having been accustomed for a month to 
the tumult of Via Grande, to come to this quiet scene, where 
we hear no sound except the rushing of the river in the valley 



ITALY. 109 

below. While at Levorno, I hardly heard the noise ; but, 
when I came here, I felt the silence as a return to something 
very delightful from which I had been long absent. We live 
here in the midst of a beautiful scene, and I wish that I had 
the imagination and expressions of a poet to describe it as it 
deserves, and to fill you all with an ardent desire to visit it. 
We are surrounded by mountains covered with thick chestnut 
woods ; they are peaked and picturesque, and sometimes you 
see peeping above them the bare summit of a distant Apen- 
nine. Vines are cultivated at the foot of the mountains. The 
walks in the woods are delightful ; for I like nothing so much 
as to be surrounded by the foliage of trees, only peeping now 
and then through the leafy screen on the scene about me. 
You can either walk by the side of the river, or on commodi- 
ous paths cut in the mountains ; and, for rambles, the woods 
are intersected with narrow paths in every direction. Our 
house is small, but commodious, and exceedingly clean, for it 
has just been painted, and the furniture is quite new. We 
have a small garden, and at the end of it is an arbor of laurel 
trees, so thick that the sun does not penetrate it ; nor has my 
prediction followed us, that we should everywhere find it cold. 
Although not hot, the weather has been very pleasant. We 
see the fire-flies in an evening, somewhat dimmed by the 
bright rays of the moon. 

"And now I will say a few words of. our domestic economy 
— albeit, I am afraid the subject has tired you out of your wits 
more than once. Signor Chiappa we found perfectly useless. 
He would talk of nothing but himself, and recommended a per- 
son to cook our dinner for us at three pauls a day. So, as it 
is, Paolo (whom we find exceedingly useful) cooks and man- 
ages for us, and a woman comes at one paul a day to do the 
dirty work. We live very comfortably, and, if Paolo did not 
cheat us, he would be a servant worth a treasure, for he does 
everything cleanlily and exactly, without teazing us in any 
way. So we lead here a very quiet, pleasant life, reading our 
canto of Ariosto, and walking in the evening among these 



110 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

delightful woods. "We have but one wish. You know what 
that is, but you take no pity on us, and exile us from your 
presence so long that I quite long to see you again. Now we 
see no one. The Signor Chiappa is a stupid fellow, and the 
Casino is not open, that I know of — at least, it is not at all 
frequented. When it is, every kind of amusement goes on 
there, particularly dancing, which is divided into four parts — 
English and French country dances, quadrilles, waltzes, and 
Italian dances. These take place twice a week, on which 
evenings the ladies dress, but on others they go merely in a 
walking dress. 

" We have found among our books a volume of poems of 
Lord Byron's, which you have not seen. Some of them I 
think you will like ; but this will be a novelty to recommend 
us on our return. I begin to be very much delighted with 
Ariosto ; the beginning of the nineteenth canto is particularly 
beautiful. It is the wounding of Medoro, and his being re- 
lieved by Angelica, who, for a wonder, shows herself in the 
light of a sympathizing and amiable person. 
"Affectionately yours, 

"Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley." 

from mrs. shelley to mrs. gisborne. 

" Bagni di Lucca, July 2, 1818. 
" My Dear Madam, 

"An earthquake for the steam-engine, and thus to swal- 
low up Mr. Reveley's * whole territory, is somewhat a harsh 
remedy ; yet I could wish for one that could transport it (if 
you will not come without it) to these Bagni, where I am sure 
you would be enchanted with everything except the English 
that are crowded here to the almost entire exclusion of 
Italians, so that I think it would be easier to have a conver- 
sazione of Italians in England than here in their native 

* Mr. Reveley was a son of Mrs. Gisborne. by a former marriage. 
— Ed. 



ITALY. Ill 

country. We see none but English ; we hear nothing but 
English spoken. The walks are filled with English nursery 
maids — a kind of animal I by no means like — and dash- 
ing, staring Englishwomen, who surprise the Italians (who 
always are carried about in sedan chairs) by riding on horse- 
back. For us, we generally walk, except last Tuesday, when 
Shelley and I took a long ride to // Prato Fiorito, a flowery 
meadow on the top of one of the neighboring Apennines. We 
rode among chestnut woods, leaving the noisy cicala, and 
there was nothing disagreeable in it, except the steepness of 
the ascent. The woods about here are in every way delight- 
ful, especially when they are plain, with grassy walks through 
them. They are filled with sweet-singing birds, and not long 
ago we heard a cuckoo. Mr. Shelley wishes to go with me to 
Monte Pelerino — the highest of the Apennines — at the top 
of which there is a shrine. It is distant about twenty-two 
miles. Can it be there that the Italian palates were deceived 
by unwholesome food ? (to talk of that hideous transaction in 
their own cool way) ; and would you think it advisable for us 
to make this pilgrimage ? We must go on horseback and 
sleep in one of the houses on the mountain. 

" I have had a letter from my father ; he does not appear 
very well in health, but I hope the summer will restore him. 
He says in his letter : ' I was extremely gratified by your 
account of Mrs. Gisborne/ 

" We are now in the 36th canto of Ariosto. How very 
entertaining it is, and how exceedingly beautiful are many 
of the stories ! Yet I cannot think him so great a poet as 
Spenser, although, as I said before, a much better story-teller. 
I wonder if I shall like Tasso better ? 
" My dear Mrs. Gisborne, 

" Yours affectionately and obliged, 

"Mary W. Shelley." 



112 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

FROM GODWIN TO MRS. SHELLEY. 

"Skinner Street, July 7 th, 1818. 
"My dear Mary, 

" You will, I dare say, be glad to hear that I am now over 
head and ears in my answer to Malthus. That painful com- 
plication of circumstances, which for four or five months sus- 
pended my labors, seems at present to have dispersed itself 
like a summer cloud. But I know that all these appearances 
are fallacious. I know that the tempest is brewing in the dis- 
tance, and that at no very remote period it will pour all its 
fury upon my devoted head.* But this very consciousness 
gives new energy to my exertions. Providence, or by what- 
ever other name we shall call that principle that presides over 
the affairs of men, has granted mean interval, however short, 
of cheerfulness and serenity ; and (particularly at my time of 
life) such a favor is to be received as an inestimable present, 
which it becomes me most assiduously and vigilantly to im- 
prove. 

" The Westminster election closes on Saturday, and the 
result of the whole in this division is, that the metropolis, 
which sends eight members — four for London, two for West- 
minster, and two for Southwark — has not sent, in its whole 
number, one old supporter of the present Administration. The 
members for Westminster are Romilly and Burdett ; for 
Southwark, Calvert, a veteran -Foxite, and Sir Robert Wil- 
son ; and for London, Alderman Wood, Alderman Morp, and 
Waithman (all stanch Oppositionists), and Mr. Wilson, a new 
man, who will, in all probability, vote for Government, but 
who is at least not an old supporter. Sir William Curtis for 
London — their right-hand man — is thrown out. The conse- 
quence of all this is, that everybody is of opinion that, if time 
had been given, and these examples had been sufficiently 

* Godwin here alludes to pecuniary difficulties. — Ed. 



ITALY. 113 

early, the general defeat of the Ministry would have been 
memorable. As it is, it is computed that the Ministerial ma- 
jority will immediately be diminished by forty or fifty votes ; 
and sanguine people say, nobody can tell what that may 
end in. 

" My occupations call me away, and I cannot add much to 
this letter. I am anxious to know what you are about, and 
could wish, as you kindly say on your part, that I could hear 
from you more frequently. I follow you in imagination under 
Italian skies, and amidst Italian scenery, and all the precious 
antiquities of that memorable region. I should be happy to 
hear of Shelley's health, of your occupations, and of the 
progress and improvement of your William. 

" Farewell ! Be useful, be respectable, be happy ! Such 
is the prayer of your affectionate father, 

" William Godwin. 

"P. S. — Mr. Brougham has just lost his election for West- 
moreland ; but he appears to be sanguine of success at the 
next opportunity. He had 900 votes; his competitors, 1,100 
and 1,200." 



FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Bagni di Lucca, August 17th, 1818. 
"My dear Madam, 

" It gave me great pleasure to receive your letter after 
so long a silence, when I had begun to conjecture a thousand 
reasons for it, and, among others, illness, in -which I was half 
right. Indeed, I am much concerned to hear of Mr. R.'s 
attacks, and sincerely hope that nothing will retard his speedy 
recovery. His illness gives me a slight hope that you might 
now be induced to come to the baths, if it were even to try 
the effect of the hot baths. You would find the weather cool ; 
for we already feel in this part of the world that the year is 
declining, by the cold mornings and evenings. I have another 



114 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

selfish reason to wish that you would come, which I have a 
great mind not to mention ; yet I will not omit it, as it might 

induce you. Shelley and C are gone ; they went to-day 

to Venice on important business ; and I am left to take care 
of the house. Now, if all of you, or any of you, would come 
and cheer my solitude, it would be exceedingly kind. I dare 
say you would find many of your friends here ; among the 
rest there is the Signora Felicho, whom I believe you knew 
at Pisa. 

" Shelley and I have ridden almost every evening. C 

did the same at first ; but she has been unlucky, and once fell 
from her horse, and hurt her knee so as to knock her up for 
some time. It is the fashion here for all the English to ride ; 
and it is very pleasant on these fine evenings, when we set 
out at sunset and are lighted home by Venus, Jupiter, and 
Diana, who kindly lend us their light after the sleepy Apollo 
is gone to bed. The road which we frequent is raised some- 
what above, and overlooks, the river, affording some very fine 
points of view amongst these woody mountains. 

" Still, we know no one ; we speak to one or two people at 
the Casino, and that is all. We live in our studious way, go- 
ing on with Tasso, whom I like, but who, now I have read 
more than half his poem, I do not know that I like so well as 
Ariosto. Shelley translated the Symposium in ten days. It 
is a most beautiful piece of writing. I think you will be de- 
lighted with it. It is true that in many particulars it shocks 
our present manners ; but no one can be a reader of the works 
of antiquity unless they can transport themselves from these 
to other times, and judge not by our, but their, morality. 

" Shelley is tolerably well in health ; the hot weather has 
done him good. We have been in high debate — nor have 
we come to any conclusion — concerning the land or sea jour- 
ney to Naples. We have been thinking that, when we want 
to go, although the equinox will be past, yet the equinoctial 
w r inds will hardly have spent themselves; and I cannot ex- 
press to you how I fear a storm at sea, with two such young 



ITALY. 115 

children as William and Clara. Do you know the periods 
when the Mediterranean is troubled, and when the wintry 
halcyon days come ? However it may be, we shall see you 
before we proceed southward. 

" We have been reading Eustace's Tour through Italy. I 
do not wonder the Italians reprinted it. Among other select 
specimens of his way of thinking, he says that the Romans did 
not derive their arts and learning from the Greeks; that 
Italian ladies are chaste, and the lazzaroni honest and indus- 
trious ; and that, as to assassination and highway robbery in 
Italy, it is all a calumny — no such things were ever heard of. 
Italy was the garden of Eden, and all the Italians Adams and 
Eves, until the blasts of hell (t. e. the French — for by that 
polite name he designates them) came. By the by, an Italian 
servant stabbed an English one here, it was thought danger- 
ously at first, but the man is doing better. 

" I have scribbled a long letter, and I dare say you have long 
wished to be at the end of it. Well, now you are ; so, my 
dear Mrs. Gisborne, with best remembrances, 

" Yours obliged and affectionately, 

" Mary W. Shelley." 

In Mrs. Shelley's journal of this year are recorded 
two amusing ghost stories, which may find a place here, 
for the edification of believers in spectral appearances: — 

" Tuesday, October 20th. — The Chevalier Mengaldo spends 
the evening at the Hoppners', and relates several ghost stories 
— two that occurred to himself. 

" When the Chevalier was at the University, and very 
young, on returning home to pass the vacation he heard that 
the inhabitants of the town had been frightened by the mighty 
visitation of a ghost, who traversed the town from one end to 
the other ; so much to their terror, that no one would venture 
out after dark. The Chevalier felt a great curiosity to see 
the ghost, and stationed himself at the window of a house of 



116 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

one of bis friends, by which the shadow always passed. Twelve 
o'clock struck ; no ghost appeared. One ; half-past one. The 
Chevalier grew sleepy, and determined to return home. The 
town chiefly consisted, like most country towns, of one long 
street, and as the Chevalier, on his road home, was at one end 
of it, he saw at the other something white, like a rabbit or 
greyhound, that appeared to advance towards him. He per- 
ceived that as he advanced it grew larger and larger, and ap- 
peared to take a human form. The Chevalier could now no 
longer doubt but that it was the ghost, and felt his courage 
fail him, although he strove to master it as well as he could. 
The figure, as it approached, grew gigantic, and the Cheva- 
lier crouched behind a column as it passed, which it did with 
enormous footsteps. As it passed, it appeared all dressed in 
white ; the face was long and white, and its hand appeared of 
itself capable of covering the whole body of Mengaldo. 

" The Chevalier, when he was in the army, had a duel with 
a brother officer, and wounded him in the arm. He was very 
sorry at having wounded the young man, and attended him 
during its cure ; so that when he got well they became firm 
and dear friends. Being quartered, I think, at Milan, the 
young officer fell desperately in love with the wife of a musi- 
cian, who disdained his passion. The young man became 
miserable, and Mengaldo continually advised him to ask leave 
of absence — to hunt, to pay a visit, and in some way to divert 
his passion. One evening the young man came to Mengaldo, 
and said, ' Well, I have asked leave of absence, and am to 
have it early to-morrow morning ; so lend me your fowling- 
piece and cartridges, for I shall go to hunt for a fortnight.' 
Mengaldo gave it him; and among his bird-shot were some 
bullets, put there for safety, in case, while hunting, he should 
be attacked by a wolf, &c. 

" The young man said : ' Tell the lady I love that our con- 
versation has been chiefly about her to-night, and that her 
name was the last I spoke/ ' Yes, yes,' said Mengaldo, * I will 
say anything you please ; but do not talk of her any more — 



ITALY. 117 

you must forget her.' On going away the young man em- 
braced Mengaldo warmly ; but the latter saw nothing more in 
it than his affection, combined with melancholy in separating 
himself from his mistress. 

" When Mengaldo was on guard that night, he heard the 
report of a gun. He was first troubled and agitated by it, but 
afterwards thought no more of it, and when relieved from 
guard went to bed, although he passed a restless and sleepless 
night. In the morning early, some one knocked at the door. 
The man said he had got the young officer's leave of absence, 
and had taken it to his house. A servant had opened the 
door, and he had gone up stairs ; but the officer's room-door 
was locked, and no one answered to his knocking ; but some- 
thing oozed through under the door that appeared like blood. 
Mengaldo was dreadfully terrified ; he hurried to his friend's 
house, burst open the door, and found him stretched on the 
ground. He had blown out his brains, and his head and 
brains were scattered about the room, so that no part of the 
head remained on the shoulders. Mengaldo was grieved and 
shocked, and had a fever in consequence, which lasted some 
days. When he was well, he got leave of absence, and went 
into the country to try to divert his mind. 

" One evening at moonlight, he was returning home from a 
walk, and passing through a lane with a hedge on both sides, 
so high that he could not see over it. As he walked along, he 
heard a rustling in the bushes beside him, and the figure of his 
friend issued from the hedge and stood before him, as he had 
seen him after his death, without his head. This figure he 
saw many times afterwards, always in the same place. It was 
impalpable to the touch, and never spoke, although Mengaldo 
often addressed it. Once he took another person with him. 
The same rustling was heard ; the same shadow stepped forth ; 
his companion was dreadfully terrified ; he tried to cry, but 
his voice failed him, and he ran off* as quickly as he could." 

Under date "November 13th, 1818," Godwin thus 



118 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

gossips with Shelley on the events of the day, and on 
his own projects : — 

" I am at present deeply engaged upon Malthus. It goes 
on slowly, but so much the more surely (not the more surely 
as to its being ever finished, but the more surely) as to its 
being finally 

4 Fortis et in seipso totus teres atque rotundus, 
Extern! ne quid valeat per lseve morari, 
In quern maneat semper fortuna.' 

I have just discovered a train of reasoning which, if I am not 
mistaken, will utterly and forever demolish his geometrical 

ratio. 

******* 

" You have heard, of course, of the melancholy suicide of 
Sir Samuel Homilly. I do not remember any event that has 
produced so deep a public sensation. He was undoubtedly an 
admirable man ; and I do not know any one whose parlia- 
mentary existence was so completely devoted to public good. 

" You are also, I suppose, informed of the withdrawing the 
army of occupation from France. Lord Liverpool, we are 
told, has in consequence insisted upon a large reduction of our 
peace establishment, and made this measure the sine qua non 
of his continuing in office. This is supposed to be owing to 
the turn matters took in the General Election. So far we have 
really made some advance in the scale of improvement. 

" The last letters I received from Mary are of the date of 
August 3d and October 1st. In the October letter, she ap- 
parently labored under great depression of spirits, in conse- 
quence of the loss of her infant. I hope she has by this time 
recovered her accustomed tone, and is happy. 

tc Very affectionately yours, 

" William Godwin." 



ITALY. 119 

FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Naples, Dec. 1818. 
" My dear Mrs. Gisborne, 

" I hasten to answer your kind letter as soon as we are 
a little recovered from the fatigue of our long journey, al- 
though I still feel wearied and overcome by it, — so you must 
expect a very stupid letter. We set out from Este the day 
after I wrote to you. We remained one day at Ferrara and 
two at Bologna, looking at the memorials preserved of Tasso 
and Ariosto in the former town, and at the most exquisite pic- 
tures in the latter. Afterwards, we proceeded along the coast 
road by Rimini, Fano, Fossombrone, &c. We saw the divine 
waterfall, Terni, and arrived safely at Rome. We performed 
this journey with our own horses, with Paolo to drive us, 
which we found a very economical, but a very disagreeable 
way ; so we shall not attempt it again. To you, who have 
seen Rome, I need not say how enchanted we were with the 
first view of Rome and its antiquities. One drawback they 
have at present, which I hope will be fully compensated for in 
the future. The ruins are filled with galley-slaves at work. 
They are propping the Coliseum, and making very deep ex- 
cavations in the Forum. We remained a week at Rome, and 
our fears for the journey to Naples were entirely removed. 
They said here that there had not been a robbery on the road 
for eight months. This we found afterwards to be an exag- 
geration ; but it tranquillized us so much that Shelley went on 
first, to secure us lodgings, and we followed a day or two after. 
We found the road guarded, and the only part of the road 
where there was any talk of fear was between Terracina and 
Fondi, when it was not thought desirable we should set out 
from the former place before daylight. Shelley travelled with 
a Lombard merchant and a Neapolitan priest. He remained 
only two nights on the road, and he went veterino ; so you 
may guess he had to travel early and late. The priest, a 



120 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

great, strong, muscular fellow, was almost in convulsions with 
fear, to travel before daylight along the Pontine marshes. 
There was talk of two bishops murdered, and that touched 
him nearly. The robbers spare foreigners, but never Neapol- 
itan men, if they are young and strong ; so he was the worst 
off of the party. The merchant did not feel very comforta- 
ble, and they were both surprised at Shelley's quietness. That 
quiet was disturbed, however, between Capua and Naples, by 
an assassination committed in broad daylight before their eyes. 
A young man ran out of a shop on the road, followed by a 
woman armed with a great stick and a man with a great 
knife. The man overtook him, and stabbed him in the nape 
of the neck, so that he fell down instantly, stone dead. The 
fearful priest laughed heartily at Shelley's horror on the occa- 
sion. 

" Well, we are now settled in comfortable lodgings, which 
Shelley took for three louis a week, opposite the Royal Gar- 
dens — you no doubt remember the situation. We have a full 
view of the bay from our windows ; so I think we are well off. 
As yet, we have seen nothing ; but we shall soon make some 
excursions in the environs. 

" Ever yours affectionately, 

"Mary W. Shelley." 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 12] 



CHAPTER IX. 

" PROMETHEUS UNBOUND I " THE " CENCI." 

The early part of the year 1819 was spent by the 
Shelleys at Naples, and was diversified by excursions to 
Psestum, Pompeii, Herculaneum, Vesuvius, Baiae, Lago 
d'Agnano, &c. ; but in March they returned to Rome, 
where every day was occupied in explorations and visits, 
in wanderings among the sublime ruins of antiquity, and 
in meditations on the past. Their happiness, however, 
was soon interrupted by the death, in the early summer, 
of their son William — at that time their only surviving 
child. Shelley suffered the deepest anguish from this 
event ; and the grief of Mrs. Shelley was no less. The 
child was buried in the English cemetery ; in allusion to 
which place Shelley wrote : — " This spot is the reposi- 
tory of a sacred loss, of which the yearnings of a parent's 
heart are now prophetic ; he is rendered immortal by 
love, as his memory is by death. My beloved child lies 
buried here. I envy death the body far less than the 
oppressors the minds of those whom they have torn from 
me. The one can only kill the body ; the other crushes 
the affections." 

6 



122 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Harping on the same mournful string, he thus ad- 
dresses his dead child in verse : — 

" My lost William, thou in whom 

Some bright spirit lived, and did 
That decaying robe consume 

Which its lustre faintly hid, 
Here its ashes find a tomb ; 

But beneath this pyramid 
Thou art not. If a thing divine, 
Like thee, can die, thy funeral shrine 
Is thy mother's grief and mine." 

In the spring of 1819, Shelley wrote one of the 
greatest of his works, the Prometheus Unbound. The 
spot he selected for his study was that occupied by the 
ruined baths of Caracalla — a maze of gigantic chambers, 
open to the sky, and carpeted with verdure ; of shattered 
towers, wreathed with a drapery of glorious weeds a,nd 
trailing ivy, with which the stonework has become al- 
most incorporated; of heaped masses of masonry, out of 
which spring groves of flowering shrubs ; of broken 
arches, winding staircases, and hidden nooks for solitary 
thought. Here he worked with wonderful assiduity, and 
very soon completed the drama in three acts ; the fourth 
was added several months after, when the poet was at 
Florence. All attentive readers of this wonderful work 
will agree with Mrs. Shelley in thinking that the lucid 
atmosphere of Rome, the exquisite vegetation of the sur- 
rounding wastes, and the sublime objects of art, whether 
of antiquity or of later times, which met his eyes in every 
direction, helped the sensitive imagination of Shelley to 
conceive those superhuman visions of loveliness and awful 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 123 

might which throng the scenes of Prometheus Unbound. 
But only his own subtle, and almost instinctive, appre- 
hension of metaphysical analogies could have enabled 
him to endow his ideal characters with a language proper 
to the abstract ideas which they typify. This is the in- 
tuition of genius, which can not only create an imaginary 
world, but can govern it by laws in harmony with them- 
selves and with that which they control. The personi- 
fications of Shelley's mythological drama are not the 
vague idealisms of a young poet seeking for effect ; they 
have a deep psychological meaning. The poetry which 
they utter is like the language of beings wakening, in the 
fresh dawn of the world, to the mystery of their own 
emotions and the miraculous loveliness of the universe. 
We seem to behold the elemental splendor of things dis- 
arrayed of that indifference which springs from our 
superficial familiarity, and from the deadening effect of 
our conventional existence. 

The drama, though written in 1819, was not published 
till 1820. 

Several of Shelley's letters about this period have 
reference to a project, which he set on foot, of a steam- 
boat to ply between Marseilles and Leghorn ; the con- 
struction of this boat was to be managed by Mr. Reveley, 
the son of Mrs. Gisborne by a former marriage, to whom 
reference has already been made, and who was an en- 
gineer. The pecuniary profit was to belong solely to 
Mr. Reveley ; but Shelley took a fervent interest in the 
undertaking, for its own sake. It was not puerile vanity, 
but the nobler feeling of honest pride, that made him 



124 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

enjoy the idea of being the first to introduce steam 
navigation into the Gulf of Lyons, and to glory in the 
consciousness of being in this manner useful to his 
fellow-creatures. Unfortunately, he was condemned to 
experience a failure. The prospects and views of his 
friends drew them to England, and the boat and engine 
were abandoned. Shelley was deeply disappointed 
yet it will be seen how generously he exculpates his 
friends to themselves, and relieves them from the regret 
they might naturally feel at having thus wasted his 
money and disappointed his desires. 

FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Rome, Monday, April 26th, 1819. 
" My dear Mrs. Gisborne, 

" We already begin to feel, or think we feel, the effects of 
the Roman air, producing cold, depression, and even fever, to 
the feeblest of our party ; so we emigrate a month earlier than 
we intended, and on the 7th of May leave this delightful city 
for the Bay of Naples, intending, if possible, to settle for some 
months at Gastel del Mare. The physicians prognosticate 
good to Shelley from a Neapolitan summer. He has been 
very unwell lately, and is very far from well now ; but I hope 
that he is getting up again. 

" Yesterday evening, I met at a conversazione the true 
model of Biddy Fudge's lover — an Englishman with 'the 
dear Corsair expression, half savage, half soft,' with the beauti- 
ful mixture of ' Abelard and old Blucher,' and his forehead 
' rather bald, but so warlike,' and his moustaches, on which 
the lamp shone with a fine effect. When I heard his name 
called Signor Colonello, I could not restrain a smile, which 
nearly degenerated into laughter when I thought we had Col- 
onel Calicot in Rome. Presently he began, in very good 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 125 

Italian, which, though Englishly pronounced, [was] yet better 
spoken than any other Englishman that I have heard, to give 
an account of his warlike feats, and how at Lisbon he had put 
to flight thirty well-armed and well-mounted robbers (he on 
foot), with two pistols that never missed their aim. There 
can be but one such man in the world, as you will be con- 
vinced when I tell you that, while I was admiring his extra- 
ordinary prowess, C whispered to me, "It is Colonel 

F h." 

" You asked me to tell you what I had heard of him at 
Venice. Only one or two shabby tricks too long for a letter ; 
and that an officer who served in Spain, of the same regiment 
to which he pretends to belong, vows that there was no Colo- 
nel F h there. Report says that he is a parson, and Lord 

B.'s nickname for his particular friend is the Reverend Colonel 
F li. 

" We have been very gay in Rome, as I dare say you have 
heard, with the visit of the Emperor of Austria, who, they 
whisper, wishes to take the Roman States into the keeping of 
the Holy Roman Empire ; this would be a fall (to say the 
least of it) from nothingness to hell. There was a feast given 
at the Capitol. The three palaces were joined by a gallery, 
and the whole hung with silk, and illuminated in the most 
magnificent manner ; and the dying Gladiator, surrounded by 
his Apollos and Yenuses, shone forth very beautifully. There 
were very fine fireworks, and a supper not at all in the Italian 
taste, for there was an abundance which did honor to the old 
Cardinal who superintended the fete. Every one was pleased, 
and the Romans in ecstacies. I have not room to tell you how 
gracefully the old venerable Pope fulfilled the church cere- 
monies, or how surprised and delighted we were with the 
lighting up of St. Peter's ; all that must serve for gossip when 
we meet. When will that be ? We saw nobody at Naples ; 
but we see a few people here. The Italian character does not 
improve upon us. By the by, we have given an introduction 
for you (which I do not think will be presented) to a Roman 



126 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

lady, a painter and authoress, very old, very miserly, and very 
mean — perhaps you know her. She says that she thinks she 
remembers your name. 

" I am in better health and spirits than when I last wrote, 
and make no ceremony of writing without receiving answers. 

Shelley and C desire best remembrances. 

" Affectionately yours, 

"M. W. Shelley." 

The ardor of intellectual creation must at this time 
have possessed Shelley to an extraordinary degree. 
No sooner had he finished the first three acts of Pro- 
metheus Unbound, than he began the Cenci ; and, as the 
former work was written during the spring, and the date 
of the dedication of the latter is May 29th, the composi- 
tion of the tragedy must have been pushed forward with 
great rapidity, though the work was not completed till a 
month or two after the date indicated. The dedication 
is to Leigh Hunt, and shows the high regard which Shel- 
ley entertained for the friend who, perhaps above all 
others, understood his nature and his genius. The or- 
igin of the tragedy is to be found in an old manuscript 
account of the story of the Cenci which a friend put into 
Shelley's hands while he was at Rome, and of which a 
translation is published by Mrs. Shelley in her edition 
of the poems. The poet's interest in the unhappy victim, 
Beatrice, was increased by seeing her portraits in the 
Colonna and Doria Palaces (the former by Guido) ; and 
he at first wished Mrs. Shelley to make the story the 
subject of a play by herself, as he conceived that she 
possessed a dramatic faculty, and that he had none what- 
ever, — for the Prometheus Unbound is clearly not a 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 127 

drama in the ordinary sense of the word, but a poem, 
taking the form of action. He had already made one or 
two attempts of a more strictly dramatic kind, but had 
thrown them aside in disgust ; nevertheless, he was per- 
suaded by Mrs. Shelley to undertake the tragedy of the 
Cenci, and he frequently consulted her during its prog- 
ress (the only time* he submitted to her judgment any 
of his writings while they were being composed), and 
talked over the arrangement of the scenes from day to 
day. 

While the work proceeded, the illness and death of 
the little boy, William, took place — an affliction which 
drove the broken-hearted parents to the neighborhood of 
Leghorn, where they took a small house (Villa Yalso- 
vano), about half-way between the city and Monte Nero. 
"Our villa," says Mrs. Shelley, "was situated in the 
midst of a podere ; the peasants sang as they worked 
beneath our window during the heats of a very hot sum- 
mer, and in the evening the water-wheel creaked as the 
process of irrigation went on, and the fire-flies flashed 
from among the myrtle hedges. Nature was bright, sun- 
shiny, and cheerful, or diversified by storms of a majestic 
terror, such as we had never before witnessed." A small 
terrace, roofed and glazed, at the top of the house, was 
converted by Shelley into a study; and here he could 
bask in the light and heat of an Italian summer (never 
too intense for him), or watch the processional march of 
the tempests over the near ocean. The greater part of 
the Cenci was written in this retreat. 

Wishing to see his drama acted at Covent Garden, 



128 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

with Miss O'Neil as the heroine, Shelley wrote to a 
friend in London (Mr. Peacock), requesting that he 
would open negotiations with the manager. In address- 
ing Mr. Peacock, he says of the newly-completed work 
that his " principal doubt as to whether it would succeed 
as an acting play hangs entirely " on the frightful nature 
of the story ; but he thinks that the delicacy with which 
he has treated the facts will remove any objection. It 
did not do so, however, for the manager declined to ac- 
cept the work, on the ground anticipated by its author ; 
yet, at the same time, he expressed his desire that the 
writer (whose name was not mentioned to him*) would 
compose a play on some other subject, adding that he 
would gladly produce it. In the same letter, Shelley 
observes : — "lam exceedingly interested in the question 
of whether this attempt of mine will succeed or not. I 
am strongly inclined to the affirmative, at present, found- 
ing my hopes on this, that, as a composition, it is cer- 
tainly not inferior to any of the modern plays that have 
been acted, with the exception of Remorse ; that the in- 
terest of the plot is incredibly greater and more real ; 
and that there is nothing but what the multitude are con- 
tented to believe that they can understand, either in 
imagery, opinion, or sentiment." With respect to Miss 
O'Neil in the character of Beatrice, Shelley exclaims — 
" God forbid that I should see her play it ! It would 
tear my nerves to pieces/' 

* The reason for this secrecy was a fear on the part of Shelley that, 
if the play were produced as his, his sister-in-law would hire people 
to hoot it off the stage. 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 129 

In another letter, the poet writes : — "I have been 
cautious to avoid the introducing faults of youthful com- 
position ; diffuseness, a profusion of inapplicable imagery, 
vagueness, generality, and, as Hamlet says, ' words, 
words.' " The play is, in truth, a wonderful instance of 
mature judgment and self-control — the more extraor- 
dinary when we reflect that the author was barely 
seven-and-twenty when he wrote it, and that the peculiar 
tendency of his genius was towards an excessive afflu- 
ence of imagination and fancy, and the embodiment of 
thoughts the most evanescent and impalpable in forms 
the most gorgeous and transcendent. The Cenci occupies 
entirely different ground. Everywhere we feel the earth 
under our feet. The characters are not personifications 
of abstract ideas, but are true human beings, speaking, 
indeed, a language exalted by passion, but, nevertheless, 
a language which has its roots in nature, and draws its 
sustenance from life. Awful are those revelations of the 
monstrous heart of the old man; tremendous in their 
hopeless agony and desolation those staggerings of the 
mind of Beatrice on the brink of madness ; angelical, in 
its serene redemption from transitory error, that spirit 
of resignation and immortal love which rises, towards the 
close of the play, out of the hell of the earlier parts, 
and finds its most lovely expression in the final words. 
Never did poet more exquisitely show the triumph of 
Good over Evil than Shelley has done in that hushed 
and sacred ending. It is a voice out of the very depths 
of the suffering patience of humanity. But, indeed, 
the play throughout comes nearer to Shakspeare than 

6* 



130 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

any other writer has approached since Shakspeare's 
time. 

Strange to say, however, Shelley, though frequently 
urged by his friends, would never again write in the 
same manner, asserting that his natural tastes lay in a 
totally different direction. 

The first edition of the Cenci was printed in Italy, and 
sent to London for publication. It was received with a 
degree of enthusiasm to which no other work of Shelley 
attained during his life ; and in 1821 a second edition 
was printed in England. In a letter to Mr. Oilier, his 
publisher, dated " Leghorn, September 6th, 1819," Shelley 
alludes both to Prometheus Unbound and to the Cenci. 



from shelley to mr. ollier. 

" Dear Sir, 

" I received your packet with Hunt's picture about a 
fortnight ago ; and your letter with Nos. 1, 2, and 3 yesterday, 
but not No. 4, which is probably lost or mislaid, through the 
extreme irregularity of the Italian post. 

" The ill account you give of the success of my poetical 
attempts, sufficiently accounts for your silence ; but I believe 
that the truth is, I write less for the public than for myself. 
Considering that perhaps the parcel will be another year on 
its voyage, I rather wish, if this letter arrives in time, that you 
would send the Quarterly's article by the post, and the rest of 
the Review in the parcel. Of course, it gives me a certain 
degree of pleasure to know that any one likes my writings ; 
but it is objection and enmity alone that rouses my curiosity. 
My Prometheus, which has been long finished, is now being 
transcribed, and will soon be forwarded to you for publication. 
It is, in my judgment, of a higher character than anything I 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 131 

have yet attempted, and is perhaps less an imitation of any- 
thing that has gone before it. I shall also send you another 
work, calculated to produce a very popular effect, and totally 
in a different style from anything I have yet composed. This 
will be sent already printed. The Prometheus you will be so 
good as to print as usual 

" In the Rosalind and Helen, I see there are some few 
errors, which are so much the worse because they are errors 
in the sense. If there should be any danger of a second edi- 
tion, I will correct them. 

" I have read your Altham, and Keats's poem and Lamb's 
works. For the second in this list, much praise is due to me 
for having read it, the author's intention appearing to be that 
no person should possibly get to the end of it. Yet it is full 
of some of the highest and the finest gleams of poetry ; indeed, 
everything seems to be viewed by the mind of a poet which is 
described in it. I think, if he had printed about fifty pages of 
fragments from it, I should have been led to admire Keats as a 
poet more than I ought, of which there is now no danger. In 
Altham you have surprised and delighted me. It is a natural 
story, most unaffectedly told ; and, what is more, told in a 
strain of very pure and powerful English, which is a very rare 
merit. You seem to have studied our language to some pur- 
pose ; but I suppose I ought to have waited for Inesilla. 

" The same day that your letter came, came the news of the 
Manchester work, and the torrent of my indignation has not 
yet done boiling in my veins. I wait anxiously to hear how 
the country will express its sense of this bloody, murderous op- 
pression of its destroyers. ' Something must be done. What, 
yet I know not/ * 

" In your parcel (which I pray you to send in some safe 
manner, forwarding to me the bill of lading, &c, in a regular 
mercantile way, so that my parcel may come in six weeks, 
not twelve months) send me Jones's Greek Grammar and some 
sealing wax. 

* A quotation from the Cenci. — Ed. 



132 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" Whenever I publish, send copies of my books to the follow- 
ing people from me : — 

" Mr. Hunt, Mr. Keats, 

" Mr. Godwin, Mr. Thomas Moore, 

" Mr. Hogg, Mr. Horace Smith, 

"Mr. Peacock, Lord Byron (at Murray's). 

" Yours, obliged and faithful, 

" Percy B. Shelley." 

The reference to Keats in this letter is curious, con- 
sidering the high admiration which Shelley afterwards 
felt for his w T ritings. But the truth is that Keats's first 
volume (which is the book here alluded to) contained a 
great deal of what was raw, youthful, and weak, together 
with passages reflecting, as Shelley rightly says, "the 
highest and the finest gleams of poetry " — passages pro- 
phetic of the future achievements of the young genius. 

Another letter to Mr. Oilier contains further allusion 
to the Oenci, and some scornful remarks on Quarterly 
Review slanders : — 

"Florence, Oct. 15th, 1819. 
" Dear Sir, 

" The droll remarks of the Quarterly, and Hunt's kind 
defence, arrived as safe as such poison, and safer than such an 
antidote, usually do. 

" I am on the point of sending to you 250 copies of a work 
which I have printed in Italy ; which you will have to pay 
four or fi\e pounds duty upon, on my account. Hunt will tell 
you the kind of thing it is, and in the course of the winter I 
shall send directions for its publication, until the arrival of 
which directions, 1 request that you icould have the kindness not 
to open the box, or, if by necessity, it is opened, to abstain from 
observing yourself, or permitting others to observe, what it con- 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 133 

tains.* I trust this confidently to you, it being of conse- 
quence. Meanwhile, assure yourself that this work has no 
reference, direct or indirect, to politics, or religion, or personal 
satire, and that this precaution is merely literary. 

" The Prometheus, a poem in my best style, whatever that 
may amount to, will arrive with it, but in MS., which you can 
print and publish in the season. It is the most perfect of my 
productions. 

" Southey wrote the article in question, I am well aware. 
Observe the impudence of the man in speaking of himself. 
The only remark worth notice in this piece is the assertion 
that I imitate Wordsworth. It may as well be said that Lord 
Byron imitates Wordsworth, or that Wordsworth imitates Lord 
Byron, both being great poets, and deriving from the new 
springs of thought and feeling, which the great events of our 
age have exposed to view, a similar tone of sentiment, im- 
agery, and expression. A certain similarity all the best writ- 
ers of any particular age inevitably are marked with, from 
the spirit of that age acting on all. This I had explained in 
my Preface, which the writer was too disingenuous to advert 
to. As to the other trash, and particularly that lame attack 
on my personal character, which was meant so ill, and which 
I am not the man to feel, 'tis all nothing. I am glad, with 
respect to that part of it which alludes to Hunt, that it should 
so have happened that I dedicate, as you will see, a work 
which has all the capacities for being popular to that excel- 
lent person. I was amused, too, with the finale ; it is like the 
end of the first act of an opera, when that tremendous con- 
cordant discord sets up from the orchestra, and everybody 
talks and sings at once. It describes the result of my battle 
with their Omnipotent God ; his pulling me under the sea by 
the hair of my head, like Pharaoh ; my calling out like the 
devil who was game to the last ; swearing and cursing in all 
comic and horrid oaths, like a French postilion on Mount 
Cenis ; entreating everybody to drown themselves ; pretend- 

* The italics are Shelley's own. — Ed. 



]34 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

ing not to be drowned myself when I am drowned ; and, 
lastly, being drowned.* 

" You would do me a particular kindness if you would call 
on Hunt, and ask him when my parcel went, the name of the 
ship, and the name of the captain, and whether he has any bill 
of lading, which, if he has, you would oblige me by sending, 
together with the rest of the information, by return of post, 
addressed to the Post- Office, Florence. 

" Yours very sincerely, 

" P. B. Shelley." 

FROM SHELLEY TO MR. OLLIER. 

" Florence, December Ibtli, 1819. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Pray give Mr. Procter my best thanks for his polite 
attention. I read the article you enclosed with the pleasure 
which every one feels, of course, when they are praised or 
defended ; though the praise would have given me more 
pleasure if it had been less excessive. I am glad, however, 
to see the Quarterly cut up, and that by one of their own 
people. Poor Southey has enough to endure. Do you know, 
I think the article in Blackwood could not have been written 
by a favorer of Government, and a religionist. I don't be- 
lieve any such one could sincerely like my writings. After 
all, is it not some friend in disguise, and don't you know who 
wrote it ? 

" There is one very droll thing in the Quarterly. They say 
that ' my chariot-wheels are broken.' Heaven forbid ! My 
chariot, you may tell them, was built by one of the best 
makers in Bond Street, and it has gone several thousand 
miles in perfect security. What a comical thing it would be 
to make the following advertisement ! — ' A report having pre- 
vailed, in consequence of some insinuations in the Quarterly 

* Shelley's frequent allusions to his being drowned are very sin- 
gular. — Ed. 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 135 

Eeoiew, that Mr. Shelley's chariot- wheels are broken, Mr. 
Charters, of Bond Street, begs to assure the public that they, 
after having carried him through Italy, France, and Switzer- 
land, still continue in excellent repair.' 

" When the box comes, you may write a note to Mr. Pea- 
cock ; or it would be better to call on him, and ask if my 
tragedy is accepted 1 If not, publish what you find in the box. 
I think it will succeed as a publication. Let Prometheus be 
printed without delay. You will receive the additions, which 
Mrs. S. is now transcribing, in a few days. It has already 
been read to many persons. My Prometheus is the best thing 
I ever wrote. 

" Pray what have you done with Peter Bell ? Ask Mr. 
Hunt for it, and for some other poems of a similar character 
I sent him to give you to publish. I think Peter not bad in 
his way ; but perhaps no one will believe in anything in the 
shape of a joke from me. 

" Of course with my next box you will send me the Dra- 
matic Sketches.* I have only seen the extracts in the Ex- 
aminer. They have some passages painfully beautiful. When 
I consider the vivid energy to which the minds of men are 
awakened in this age of ours, ought I not to congratulate my- 
self that I am a contemporary with names which are great, or 
will be great, or ought to be great ? 

" Have you seen my poem, Julian and Maddalo ? Suppose 
you print that in the manner of Hunt's Hero and Leander ; 
for I mean to write three other poems, the scenes of which 
will be laid at Rome, Florence, and Naples, but the subjects 
of which will be all drawn from dreadful or beautiful realities, 
as that of this was. 

" If I have health but I will neither boast nor promise. 

I am preparing an octavo on reform — a commonplace kind 
of book — which, now that I see the passion of party will 
postpone the great struggle till another year, I shall not 
trouble myself to finish for this season. I intend it to be an 

* By Mr. Procter. — Ed. 



136 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

instructive and readable book, appealing from the passions to 
the reason of men. 

" Yours very sincerely, 

" P. B. S." 

It will be seen from the date of the last two letters 
that the Shelleys had removed from Leghorn to Flor- 
ence. They did so in the early part of October ; but 
though Shelley was delighted with the latter city (one 
of the most glorious in Italy), he found that the air did 
not suit him, and early in the following year he moved 
again. 

The " Manchester work," to which Shelley alludes 
in the letter of September 6th, was the slaughter, by 
a body of mounted yeomanry, of several wretched men 
and women who had attended a large reform meeting 
in the open air, at Peterloo, near the great cotton 
metropolis. This horrible affair suggested to Shelley 
his Masque of Anarchy, which he sent to Leigh Hunt 
to be published by him, if he thought fit, in the Ex- 
aminer. Leigh Hunt, however, did not insert it, be- 
cause he thought the public mind was hardly in a fit 
state to receive a poem which was of a nature rather to 
increase than to calm the excitement already existing 
with respect to the massacre ; but he gave it to the 
world in a small volume which appeared in the year 
1832. In this poem, as in the Cenci, Shelley has 
shown his capacity to speak directly to the heart ; yet 
it is full of imagination, also, and of exquisite musical 
utterance. Several of his other minor poems written 
in this same year were likewise prompted by the 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 137 

political state of England, which at that time, under 
the profligate rule of the Prince Regent and the re- 
actionary counsels of Lord Castlereagh, was fast be- 
coming one with the worst Continental tyrannies. Peter 
Bell the Third was a satire * on Wordsworth for desert- 
ing his youthful advocacy of liberty. It was not pub- 
lished till after Shelley's death. 

The article in the Quarterly Review was a criticism 
on the Revolt of Islam. Shelley read it for the first 
time at a public room in Florence, and laughed loudly 
at its absurdity. Yet the calumnies it contained prob- 
ably led to a dastardly attack on him at the Post- Office 
by an Englishman, who, addressing him as an Atheist, 
knocked him down, and ran off. Several efforts were 
made by Shelley to discover and punish the cowardly 
scoundrel ; but they failed. The poor fanatic effectu- 
ally shrouded himself in secrecy. 

Writing to her friend, Mrs. Gisborne, from Florence, on 
the 5th of October, Mrs. Shelley reports a witty remark 
by her husband, which ought to be preserved. " Shel- 
ley," she records, " Calderonized on the late weather : he 
called it an epic of rain, with an episode of frost, and a 
few similes concerning fine weather." 

Shelley was at this time greatly troubled by the failure 
of his usual remittances from England, owing to some 
cause which he could not divine. In a letter to Mrs. 
Gisborne, dated October 14th, he says : — 

" About Henry and the steam-engine, I am in torture until 
this money comes from London, though I am sure that it must 
and will come ; unless, indeed, my banker has broke, and then 



138 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

it will be my loss, not Henry's. A little delay will mend the 
matter. I would then write instantly to London an effectual 
letter, and by return of post all would be set right. It would 
then be a thing easily set straight ; but, if it were not, you 
know me too well not to know that there is no personal suffer- 
ing, or degradation, or toil, or anything that can be named, 
with which I do not feel myself bound to support this enter- 
prise of Henry. But all this rodomontade only shows how 
correct Mr. Bielby's advice was, about the discipline necessary 
for my imagination. No doubt that all will go on with mer- 
cantile and commonplace exactness, and that you will be 
spared the suffering, and I the virtue, incident to some un- 
toward event" 

A week later, he wrote as follows to Mrs. Gisborne 
and her son : — 

"Florence, Oct. 21sf, 1819. 
"My dear Friends, 

" I send you a check for 111 sequins, 5 pauls, the prod- 
uce of 50Z., to go on with. It must be presented and in- 
dorsed by Henry, to get the money. The 200Z. will arrive 
in a few days. 

" My sincerest congratulations to Mr. Gisborne on his ar- 
rival. 

" I write these lines in a stationer's close to the Post-Office, 
and in great haste, not to miss the post. 

" Percy B. Shelley." 

We next come to a letter of friendly reproof, addressed 
to Mr. Henry Reveley : — 

" October 28th, 1819. 
"My dear Henry, 

" In the first place, listen to a reproach : you ought to 
have sent me an acknowledgment of my last billet. 

" Let you and I try if we cannot be as punctual and busi- 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 139 

ness like as the best of them. But no clipping and coining, if 
you please. 

" Now take this that I say in a light just so serious as not to 
give you pain, In fact, my dear fellow, my motive for solicit- 
ing your correspondence, and that flowing from your own 
mind, and clothed in your own words, is, that you may begin 
to accustom to discipline yourself in the only practice of life 
in which you appear deficient. You know that you are writing 
to a person persuaded of all the confidence and respect due to 
your powers in those branches of science to which you have 
addicted yourself; and you will not permit a false shame with 
regard to the mere mechanical arrangement of words to over- 
balance the advantage arising from the free communication of 
ideas. Thus you will become day by day more skilful in the 
management of that instrument of their communication on 
which the attainment of a person's just rank in society de- 
pends. Do not think me arrogant. There are subjects of the 
highest importance, on which you are far better qualified to 
instruct me, than I am qualified to instruct you on this subject. 
****** 
" Your very faithful friend, 

"P. B. S." 

Addressing the Gisbornes on the same day, Shelley 
again refers to the unsatisfactory state of his finances : — 

"Florence, Oct. 28th, 1819. 
" My dear Friends, 

" I received this morning the strange and unexpected 
news that my bill of 2001. has been returned to Mr. Webb 
protested. Ultimately this can be nothing but delay, as I have 
only drawn from my banker's hands as much as to leave them 
still in possession of SOL ; and this I positively know, and can 
prove by documents. By return of post (for I have not only 
written to my banker, but to private friends) no doubt Henry 
will be enabled to proceed. Let him, meanwhile, do all that 
can be done. 



140 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" Meanwliile, to save time, could not money be obtained 

temporarily, at Livorno, from Mr. W or Mr. G , or 

any of your acquaintance, on my bills at three or six months, 
indorsed by Mr. Gisborne and Henry, so that he may go on 
with his work ? If a month is of consequence, think of this. 

" Be of good cheer, Madonna mia ; all will go well. The 
enclosed is for Henry, and was written before this news, as he 
will see ; but it does not, strange as it is, abate one atom of my 
cheer. 

" AccejDt, dear Mrs. G., my best regards. 

" Yours faithfully, 

"P. B. S." 

On November 13th, Shelley writes to Leigh Hunt : — 
"Yesterday morning, Mary brought me a little boy. 
She suffered but two hours' pain, and is now so well that 
it seems a wonder that she stays in bed. The babe is 
also quite well, and has begun to suck. You may im- 
agine that this is a great relief and a great comfort to me 
amongst all my misfortunes, past, present, and to come. 
. . . . Poor Mary begins (for the first time) to look 
a little consoled ; for we have spent, as you may imagine, 
a miserable five months." The same domestic event is 
touched upon by Mrs. Shelley herself in a letter to Mrs. 
Gisborne : — 

"December 1st, 1819. 
" My dear Mrs. G., 

" The little boy is nearly three times as big as when he 
was born ; he thrives well and cries little, and is now taking a 
right-down, earnest sleep, with all his heart in his shut eyes. 

" There are some ladies come to this house who knew Shel- 
ley's family ; the younger one was entlwusiasmee to see him ; 
the elder said that he was a very shocking man, but, finding 
that we became the mode, she melted, and paid us a visit. She 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 141 

is a little old Welshwoman, without the slightest education. 
She has got an Italian master, and has entered into the difficult 
part of the language, the singulars and plurals — the il's and 
the lo's, and is to turn masculines into feminines, and feminines 
into masculines ; but she says she does not think she shall ever 
learn, for she cannot help mixing Welsh with her Italian — 
and, besides, it spoils her French. She speaks the sweetest 
French, as you may judge by her telling her master, ' Je ne 
peut lire aucune plus.' 

" The younger lady was a ward of one of Shelley's uncles. 
She is lively and unaffected. She sings well for an English 
debutante, and, if she would learn the scales, would sing ex- 
ceedingly well, for she has a sweet voice. So there is a great 

deal of good company for C , who is as busy as a bee 

among them all, serving as an interpreter to their masters. 
She has a most excellent singing master, and he now teaches 
several other young ladies who are here. One who had 
had a very cross master in England, when told to sing sol, 
burst into tears. The poor man was aghast. ' Non capisco 
questo effetto.' 

" I do not know why I write all this gossip to you. Pray 
let us hear of you, and the steamboat, and the felucca. 

" Affectionately yours, 

"M. W. Shelley." 

Writing to Mrs. Gisborne on December 15th, Mrs. 
Shelley says : — 

" You see, my dear friend, by the receipt of your crowns, 
that we have recovered 100/. of our money. There is still 
100/. in jeopardy ; but we must hope, and perhaps, by dint of 
giving it up as lost, we may find it again. ...... I have 

begun reading with Shelley the Conquesta di Mexico, by Solio. 
We have read very little yet. I send you something to amuse 
you — the bane and antidote. The bane from the Quarterly, the 
antidote from Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, a publication 



142 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

as furious as the Quarterly, but which takes up arms (singu- 
larly enough) in Shelley's defence. We half think that it 
must be Walter Scott, the only liberal man of that faction." 

Some days later, Mrs. Shelley again wrote to her 
friend, Mrs. Gisborne : — 

"Florence, Dec, 28th, 1819. 
" My dear Mrs. Gisborne, 

" I am glad you are pleased with the Prometheus. The 
last act, though very beautiful, is certainly the most mystic of 
the four. I am glad also that Spenser pleases you, for he is a 
favorite author of mine. In his days, I fancy, translations and 
plagiarisms were not considered so disgraceful as they are 
now. You have not all of him, and therefore perhaps you 
have not read the parts that I particularly admire * — the 
snowy Florimel, Belphoebe, and her Squire lover (who are 
half meant for Queen Elizabeth and Lord Essex). Britomart 
is only an imitation ; she is cold and dull ; but the others, and 
the lovely Una, are his own creations, and I own I like them 
better than Angelica, although, indeed, the thought of her 
night scene with Madoraf came across me, and made me 
pause as I wrote the opinion. But, perhaps, it is not in pathos, 
but in simple description of beauty, that Spenser excels. His 
description of the Island of Bliss is an exact translation of 
Tasso's Garden of Armida ; yet how is it that I find a greater 
simplicity and spirit in the translation than in the original ? 
Yet, so it is. 

" I think of beginning to read again — study I cannot, for 
I have no books, and I may not call simple reading study, for 
papa is continually saying and writing, that to read one book 
without others beside you, to which you may refer, is mere 
child's play ; but still I hope now to get on with Latin and 
Spanish. Do you know that, if you could borrow for us 

* In the Faery Queene. — Ed. 

f See Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. — Ed. 



PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. 143 

Rousseau's Emile, and Voltaire's Essai sur V Esprit des Nations 
— either or both — you would oblige us very much. 

" Shelley has given up the idea of visiting Leghorn before 
the finishing of the steamboat He is rather better these last 
two or three days, but he has suffered dreadfully lately from 
his side. He seems a changed man. His numerous weak- 
nesses and ailments have left him, and settled all in his side 
alone, for he never, any other winter, suffered such constant 
pain there.* It puts me in mind of the mountain of ills in the 
Spectator, where mankind exchange ills one with the other ; 
then they all take up their old evils again as the most bear- 
able. I do not know whether this is Shelley's case. 

"Affectionately yours, 

" M. W. Shelley." 

* In another letter, Mrs. Shelley speaks of this pain having a rheu- 
matic character. — Ed. 



144 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER X. 

THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 

On the 26th of January, 1820, the Shelleys removed 
to Pisa. At that city they had friends, and could con- 
sult the celebrated physician Vacca on the subject of the 
poet's ailments, though they received from him no other 
advice than to abstain from all medicine, and leave the 
constitution to right itself. Vacca was as much puzzled 
as the other medical men to assign any cause for Shel- 
ley's painful symptoms ; but, whatever might have been 
the nature of the complaint, the air of Pisa agreed better 
with the patient than that of any other place, and it was 
therefore determined on to remain there. Under the 
best of circumstances, however, Shelley was never en- 
tirely free from pain and ill-health. 

In walking, riding, and studying, some months passed 
pleasantly away. When evening had set in, Shelley, 
according to his usual custom, would read aloud. A few 
weeks in the spring were spent at Leghorn, in a villa 
lent to them by their friends the Gisbornes, who were 
then absent in England. From this house Shelley ad- 
dressed his letter in verse to Mrs. Gisborne — a com- 
position of interwoven grace and humor, uttered in free 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 145 

and fluent heroic couplet, and containing a lovely picture 

of the scenery and influences by which the writer was 

surrounded : — 

" I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit 
Built round dark caverns, even to the root 
Of the living stems who feed them; in whose bowers 
There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers. 
Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn 
Trembles not in the slumbering air, and, borne 
In circles quaint and ever- changing dance, 
Like winged stars the fire-flies flash and glance, 
Pale in the open moonshine ; but each one 
Under the dark trees seems a little sun, — 
A meteor tamed, — a fix'd star gone astray 
From the silver regions of the Milky Way. 
Afar, the Contadino's song is heard, 
Rude, but made sweet by distance ; and a bird, 
Which cannot be a nightingale, and yet 
I know none else that sings so sweet as it 
At this late hour; — and then all is still." 

The date of this poem is July 1st. While staying at 
the same house, Shelley wrote his divine Ode to a Shy- 
lark. The poem was suggested to him one evening by 
the bird itself, whose song attracted his attention as he 
was wandering with Mrs. Shelley among lanes shut in 
by myrtle hedges, and spangled with the erratic glory of 
the fire-flies. 

Being alarmed for the safety of their only child, who 
was affected by the extreme heat of the summer, the 
parents left Leghorn in August for the baths of San 
Giuliano, which are situated four miles from Pisa. The 
water of the baths soothed the nervous irritability of 
Shelley, and the time appears to have been very agree- 
7 



146 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

ably spent, the country being beautiful and the climate 
brilliant. " During some of the hottest days of August," 
we read in the notes to the poems, " Shelley made a soli- 
tary journey on foot to the summit of Monte San Pele- 
grino — a mountain of some height, on the top of which 
there is a chapel, the object, during certain days in the 
year, of many pilgrimages." The undue exertion pro- 
duced considerable lassitude and weakness in Shelley 
after his return ; yet, in the three days immediately suc- 
ceeding, he produced that gorgeous fantasy, the Witch 
of Atlas. He had conceived the idea during his walk. 

In Mrs. Shelley's Journal, under date "August 25th," 
is recorded : — " Shelley writes Ode to Naples ; begins 
Swellfoot, the Tyrant — suggested by the grunting of the 
pigs at the fair of San Giuliano, whilst he was reading 
aloud his Ode to Liberty" He compared this unmusical 
interruption to " the chorus of frogs in the satiric drama 
of Aristophanes." The object of Shelley's burlesque was 
to place in a ludicrous point of view the prosecution of 
Queen Caroline, which was then going forward ; and the 
pigs were made to serve as chorus. On being finished, 
it was sent to England, where it was printed and pub- 
lished anonymously ; but the Society for the Suppres- 
sion of Vice, conceiving, in their ultra-sensitiveness, that 
its subject trenched too much on forbidden ground, threat- 
ened to prosecute, and the work was consequently with- 
drawn. 

Several other poems (though none of great length) 
were written in the same year ; among them, that delicate 
dream, that romance of metaphysical subtlety, finding its 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 147 

expression in the utmost affluence of fancy and imagina- 
tion — the Sensitive Plant 

A singular circumstance brought to a termination the 
stay of the Shelleys at San Giuliano. "At the foot of 
our garden/' writes Mrs. Shelley, "ran the canal that 
communicated between the Serchio and the Arno. The 
Serchio overflowed its banks, and, breaking its bounds, 
this canal also overflowed. All this part of the country 
is below the level of its rivers, and the consequence was 
that it was speedily flooded. The rising waters filled the 
square of the baths, in the lower part of which our house 
was situated. The canal overflowed in the garden be- 
hind ; the rising waters on either side at last burst open 
the doors, and, meeting in the house, rose to the height 
of six feet. It was a picturesque sight at night, to se^e 
the peasants driving the cattle from the plains below to 
the hills above the baths. A fire was kept up to guide 
them across the ford ; and the forms of the men and the 
animals showed in dark relief against the red glare of 
the flame, which was reflected again in the waters that 
filled the square." 

Driven forth by this local deluge, Shelley and his wife 
took up their abode for the winter at Pisa, where the 
extreme mildness of the climate offered a great induce- 
ment to them to stay. The dreamy quiet of the half- 
depopulated old Republican city, moreover, delighted 
Shelley ; and for the brief remainder of his life he lived 
for the most part there. Painful experience had taught 
him and Mrs. Shelley, when contemplating their infant 
son, to dread the heat in the south of the peninsula ; 



148 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

though, but for this fear, they would have continued to 
wander at will, being devoted lovers of travelling. 

The appearance of the poet at this time showed a sin- 
gular mixture of premature age and unusually prolonged 
youth. He walked with a stoop, and his hair was sprin- 
kled with gray ; but, when Mr. Trelawney was introduced 
to him some time afterwards, he found him looking like 
" a tall, thin stripling." 

Some letters addressed to Mr. Oilier, during the year 
1820, illustrate the progress of Shelley's intellectual 
labors : — 

" Pisa, Jan. 20th, 1820. 
"Dear Sir, 

" I send you the Witch of Atlas, a fanciful poem, which, 
if its merit be measured by the labor which it cost, is worth 
nothing ; and the errata of Prometheus, which I ought to have 
sent long since — a formidable list, as you will see. 

" I have lately, and but lately, received Mr. Gisborne's par- 
cel, with reviews, &c. I request you to convey to Mr. Procter 
my thanks for the present of his works, as well as for the 
pleasure which I received from the perusal, especially of the 
Dramatic Sketches. 

" The reviews of my Cenci (though some of them, and es- 
pecially that marked ' John Scott,' are written with great 
malignity) on the whole give me as much encouragement as a 
person of my habits of thinking is capable of receiving from 
such a source, which is, inasmuch as they coincide with, and 
confirm, my own decisions. My next attempt (if I should 
write more) will be a drama, in the composition of which I 
shall attend to the advice of my critics, to a certain degree. 
But I doubt whether I shall write more. I could be content 
either with the Hell or the Paradise of poetry; but the tor- 
ments of its Purgatory vex me, without exciting my powers 
sufficiently to put an end to the vexation. 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 149 

" I have also to thank you for the present of one or two of 
your publications. I am enchanted with your Literary Mis- 
cellany, although the last article it contains has excited my 
polemical faculties so violently, that the moment I get rid of 
my ophthalmia I mean to set about an answer to it, which I 
will send to you, if you please. It is very clever, but, I 
think, very false * Who is your commentator on the German 
Drama ? He is a powerful thinker, though I differ from him 
toto ccelo about the Devils of Dante and Milton. If you know 
him personally, pray ask him, from me, what he means by 
receiving the spirit into me;\ and (if really it is any good) 
how one is to get at it. I was immeasurably amused by the 
quotation from Schlegel, about the way in which the popular 
faith is destroyed — first the Devil, then the Holy Ghost, then 
God the Father. I had written a Lucianic essay to prove the 
same thing. There are two beautiful stories, too, in this Mis- 
cellany. It pleased me, altogether, infinitely. I was also 
much pleased with the Retrospective Review — that is, with 
all the quotations from old books in it ; but it is very ill ex- 
ecuted. 

" When the spirit moves you, write and give me an account 
of the ill success of my verses. 

" Who wrote the review, in your publication, of my Cenci ? 
It was written in a friendly spirit, and, if you know the au- 
thor, I wish you would tell him from me how much obliged 
I am to him for this spirit, more gratifying to me than any lit- 
erary laud. Dear Sir, 

" Yours, very truly, 

" P. B. S." 

* The article (which was written by Mr. Peacock) was an Essay- 
on Poetry, which the writer regarded as a worn-out delusion of bar- 
barous times. — Ed. 

t The writer was the late Archdeacon Hare, who, despite his ortho- 
doxy, was a great admirer of Shelley's genius. He contended that 
Milton erred in making the Devil a majestical being, and hoped that 
Shelley would in time humble his soul, and " receive the spirit into 
him." — Ed. 



150 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" Pisa, March 6th, 1820. 
"Dear Sir, 

"I do not bear that you have received Prometheus and 
the Cenci; I therefore think it safest to tell you how and 
when to get them if you have not yet done so. 

" Give the bill of lading Mr. Gisborne sent you to a broker 
in the city, whom you employ to get the package, and to 
pay the duty on the unbound books. The ship sailed in the 
middle of December, and will assuredly have arrived long 
before now. 

" Prometheus Unbound, I must tell you, is my favorite 
poem ; I charge you, therefore, specially to pet him and feed 
him with fine ink and good paper. Cenci is written for the 
multitude, and ought to sell well. I think, if I may judge by 
its merits, the Prometheus cannot sell beyond twenty copies. 
I hear nothing either from Hunt, or you, or any one. If you 
condescend to write to me, mention something about Keats. 

"Allow me particularly to request you to send copies of 
whatever I publish to Horace Smith. 

" May be you will see me in the summer ; but in that case 
I shall certainly return to this ' Paradise of Exiles ' * by the 
ensuing winter. 

" If any of the Reviews abuse me, cut them out and send 
them. If they praise, you need not trouble yourself. I feel 
ashamed if I could believe that I should deserve the latter; 
the former, I flatter myself, is no more than a just tribute. If 
Hunt praises me, send it, because that is of another character 
of thing. 

" Dear Sir, 

" Yours very truly, 

" Percy B. Shelley." 

"Pisa, March 13th, 1820. 
"Dear Sir, 

" I am anxious to hear that you have received the parcel 

* This is a phrase> which he himself applies to Italy in Julian and 
Madddb. — Ed. 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 151 

from Leghorn, and to learn what you are doing with the Pro- 
metheus. If it can be done without great difficulty, I should 
be very glad that the revised sheets might be sent by the post 
to me at Leghorn. It might be divided into four partitions, 
sending me four or five sheets at once. 

" My friends here have great hopes that the Cenci will suc- 
ceed as a publication. It was refused at Drury Lane,* al- 
though expressly written for theatrical exhibition, on a plea of 
the story being too horrible. I believe it singularly fitted for 
the stage. 

" Let me request you to give me frequent notice of my liter- 
ary interests also. 

" I am, dear Sir, 

" Your very obliged servant, 

" Percy B. Shelley. 

"I hope you are not implicated in the late plot.f Not 
having heard from Hunt, I am afraid that he, at least, has 
something to do with it. It is well known, since the time 
of Jaffier, that a conspirator has no time to think about his 
friends." 

"Pisa, May Uth, 1820. 
" Dear Sir, 

" I reply to your letter by return of post, to confirm 
what I said in a former letter respecting a new edition of the 
Cenci, which ought, by all means, to be instantly urged for- 
ward. 

" I see by your account that I have been greatly mistaken 
in my calculations of the profit of my writings. As to the 
trifle due to me, it may as well remain in your hands. 

"As to the printing of the Prometheus, be it as you will. 
But in this case, I shall repose or trust in your care respecting 
the correction of the press ; especially in the lyrical parts, 

* This is apparently a slip of the pen for Covent Garden. — Ed. 
f The Cato Street Conspiracy. — Ed. 



152 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

where a minute error would be of much consequence. Mr. 
Gisborne will revise it ; he heard it recited, and will therefore 
more readily seize any error. 

" If I had even intended to publish Julian and Maddalo 
with my name, yet I would not print it with Prometheus. It 
would not harmonize. It is an attempt in a different style, in 
which I am not yet sure of myself — a sermo pedestris way of 
treating human nature, quite opposed to the idealisms of that 
drama. If you print Julian and Maddalo, I wish it to be 
printed in some unostentatious form, accompanied with the 
fragment of Athanase, and exactly in the manner in which I 
sent it ; and I particularly desire that my name be not an- 
nexed to the first edition of it, in any case. 

" If Peter Bell be printed (you can best judge if it will sell 
or no, and there would be no other reason for printing such a 
trifle), attend, I pray you, particularly to completely concealing 
the author ; and for Emma read Betty, as the name of Peter's 
sister. Emma, I recollect, is the real name of the sister of a 
great poet who might be mistaken for Peter. I ought to say 
that I send you poems in a few posts, to print at the end of 
Prometheus, better fitted for that purpose than any in your 
possession. 

" Keats, I hope, is going to show himself a great poet ; like 
the sun, to burst through the clouds, which though dyed in the 
finest colors of the air, obscured his rising. The Gisbornes 
will bring me from you copies of whatever may be published 
when they leave England. 

" Dear Sir, 

" Yours faithfully, 

" P. B. Shelley." 

" Pisa, November 10th, 1820. 
"Dear Sir, 

" Mr. Gisborne has sent me a copy of the Prometheus, 
which is certainly most beautifully printed. It is to be re- 
gretted that the errors of the press are so numerous, and in 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 153 

many respects so destructive of the sense of a species of 
poetry which, I fear, even without this disadvantage, very few 
will understand or like. I shall send you the list of errata in 
a day or two. 

" I send some poems to be added to the pamphlet of Julian 
and Maddalo. I think you have some other smaller poems 
belonging to that collection, and I believe you know that I do 
not wish my name to be printed on the title-page, though I 
have no objection to my being known as the author. 

" I enclose also another poem, which I do not wish to be 
printed with Julian and Maddalo, but at the end of the second 
edition of the Cenci, or of any other of my writings to which 
my name is affixed, if any other should at present have 
arrived at a second edition, which I do not expect. I have a 
purpose in this arrangement, and have marked the poem I 
mean by a cross. 

" I can sympathize too feelingly in your brother's misfor- 
tune.* It has been my hard fate also to watch the gradual 
death of a beloved child, and to survive him. Present my 
respects to your brother. 

" My friend Captain Medwin is with me, and has shown me 
a poem on Indian hunting, which he has sent you to publish. 
It is certainly a very elegant and classical composition, and, 
even if it does not belong to the highest style of poetry, I 
should be surprised if it did not succeed. May I challenge 
your kindness to do what you can for it ? 

" You will hear from me again in a post or two. The Julian 
and Maddalo, and the accompanying poems, are all my sad- 
dest verses raked up into one heap. I mean to mingle more 
smiles with my tears in future. 

" Your obedient servant, 

" P. B. Shelley." 

In addressing her friend, Mrs. Gisborne, on the 24th 

* This letter was addressed to Mr. James Oilier, who was in part- 
nership with his brother. The latter had just lost a daughter. — Ed. 

7* 



154 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

of March, 1820, Mrs. Shelley speaks of herself and her 
husband as being "very busy translating Spinoza. I 
write from his dictation," she adds ; " and we get on. 
By the bye, I wish you would send me the volume of 
the Encyclopedia that gives a system of shorthand, for I 
want to learn one without delay." 

Writing to the Gisbornes, on March 19th, Shelley 
says : — " Tell us of the steamboat. This steamboat is 
a sort of a symptote, which seems ever to approach and 
never to arrive. But courage ! Horrible work this, in 
England ! " (He is here again alluding to the Cato 
Street conspiracy, and to the disturbed state of things.) 
" Good and bad seem to have become inextricably en- 
tangled in our unhappy country." 

On May 8th, the poet indulges (in again addressing 
Mrs. Gisborne) in a little playful raillery on the subject 
of Mrs. Shelley's handwriting : — 

" I wonder what makes Mary think her letter worth the 
trouble of opening — except, indeed, she conceives it to be a 
delight to decipher a difficult scrawl. She might as well have 
put, as I will — ' My dear Sir, 

" ' ? ? ? ! ! ! 

" < Yours, &c/ 

" Take care of yourselves, and do you not forget your nightly 
journal. The silent dews renew the grass without effort in 
the night. I mean to write to you, but not to-day. All hap- 
piness attend you, my dear friend ! As an excuse for mine 
and Mary's incurable stupidity, I send a little thing about 
poets, which is itself a kind of excuse for Wordsworth." 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 155 
FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MISS CURRAN. 

" Leghorn, June 20th, 1820. 
" My dear Miss Curran, 

" It is a very long time since I heard from you, so that, if 
I did not know your dislike to writing, I should be afraid that 
something had happened — and that you were very ill. My 
heart, during all this time, was at Rome ; but I cannot conjec- 
ture when I shall be really there. Still, a letter with the 
Roman postmark would be a pleasant thing ; how much more 
welcome if from you ! 

" I am afraid you find great difficulties in executing our un- 
happy commission. Shelley and I therefore are induced to 
entreat you to have the kindness to order a plain stone to be 
erected, to mark the spot, with merely his name and dates 
(William Shelley, born Jan. 24th, 1816— June 7th, 1819). 
You would oblige us more than I can express if you would 
take care that this should be done. 

"Our little Percy is a thriving, forward child ; but after 
what has happened I own it appears to me a failing cloud — 
all those hopes that we so earnestly dwell upon. How do you 
like the Cenci f It sells, you must know, of which I am very 
glad. If I could hear of any one going to Rome I would send 
you some other books to amuse you, for we had a parcel from 
England the other day ; but we are entirely out of the world. 
It will give me great pleasure to hear from you, to know when 
you leave Rome, and how your pictures increase. Be sure I 
do not forget your nice study and your kind hospitality. Your 
study, how can I forget when we have so valuable a specimen 
of it, that is dearer to me than I can well say ? 

" Shelley desires his kindest remembrances. I would give 
a very great deal to look upon the divine city from the Trinita 
di Monti. Is not my heart there ? 

" From papa I have not heard a very long time. Affairs 



156 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

seem going on there badly, but slower than a tortoise — I hope 
not so surely towards their apparent end. 
" Farewell ! I entreat you to write. 

" Yours, with affection, 

"Mary W. Shelley. 

"P. S. — I have heard your brother's life of your father 
much praised." 



FROM KEATS TO SHELLEY. 

" Hampstead, August 10th , 1820. 
"My dear Shelley, 

" I am very much gratified that you, in a foreign country, 
and with a mind almost over-occupied, should write to me in 
the strain of the letter beside me. If I do not take advantage 
of your invitation,* it will be prevented by a circumstance I 
have very much at heart to prophesy. There is no doubt that 
an English winter would put an end to me, and do so in a lin- 
gering-, hateful manner. Therefore, I must either voyage or 
journey to Italy, as a soldier marches up to a battery. My 
nerves at present are the worst part of me, yet they feel 
soothed that, come what extreme may, I shall not be destined 
to remain in one spot long enough to take a hatred of any 
four particular bedposts. I ant glad you take any pleasure in 
my poor poem,f which I would willingly take the trouble to 
un write, if possible, did I care so much as I have done about 
reputation. I received a copy of the Cenci, as from yourself, 
from Hunt. There is only one part of it I am judge of — the 
poetry and dramatic effect, which by many spirits now-a-days 
is considered the Mammon. A modern work, it is said, must 
have a purpose, which may be the God. An artist must serve 
Mammon; he must have ' self-concentration ' — selfishness, 
perhaps. You, I am sure, will forgive me for sincerely re- 

* To go to Italy. — Ed. f Endymion. — Ed. 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 157 

marking that you might curb your magnanimity, and be more 
of an artist, and load every rift of your subject with ore. The 
thought of such discipline must fall like cold chains upon you, 
who perhaps never sat with your wings furled for six months 
together. And is not this extraordinary talk for the writer of 
JEndymioji, whose mind was like a pack of scattered cards ? 
I am picked up and sorted to a pip. My imagination is a 
monastery, and I am its monk. I am in expectation of 
Prometheus every day. Could I have my own wish effected, 
you would have it still in manuscript, or be but now putting 
an end to the second act. I remember you advising me not 
to publish my first blights, on Hampstead Heath. I am re- 
turning advice upon your hands. Most of the poems in the 
volume I send you * have been written above two years, and 
would never have been published but for a hope of gain ; so 
you see I am inclined enough to take your advice now. I 
must express once more my deep sense of your kindness, add- 
ing my sincere thanks and respects for Mrs. Shelley. In the 
hope of soon seeing you, 

" I remain most sincerely yours, 

"John Keats." 



FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MISS CURRAN. 

"Pisa, San Giuliano, August 17th, [1820.] 

" My dear Miss Curran, 

" I should have answered your letter before, but we 
have been in the confusion of moving. We are now settled 
in an agreeable house at the baths of San Giuliano, about four 
miles from Pisa, under the shadow of mountains, and with de- 
lightful scenery within a walk. We go on in our old man- 
ner, with no change. I have had many changes for the worse 
— one might be for the better — but that is nearly impossible. 

* This was his last publication. — Ed. 



158 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Our child is well and thriving, which is a great comfort ; and 
the Italian stay gives Shelley health, which is to him a rare 
and substantial enjoyment. 

" I did not receive the letter you mention to have written in 
March, and you also have missed one of our letters, in which 
Shelley acknowledged the receipt of the drawing you men- 
tion,* and requested that the largest pyramid might be erected, 
if they would encase it with white marble for 251. However, 
the whole had better stand as I mentioned in my last ; for, 
without the most vigorous inspection, great cheating would 
take place, and no female could detect them. AVhen we visit 
Rome, we can do that which we wish. Many thanks for your 
kindness, which has been very great. 

" How enraged all our mighty rulers are at the quiet revo- 
lutions which have taken place ; it is said that some one said 
to the Grand Duke here, ' Ma si chiedono une constituzione 
qui I ' ' Ebene la dario subito,' was the reply ; but he is not 
his own master, and Austria would take care that that should 
not be the case. They say, Austrian troops are coming here, 
and the Tuscan ones will be sent to Germany. We take in 
Gcdig?iani, and would send them to you if you liked. I do not 
know what the expense would be, but I should think slight. 

" If you recommence painting, do not forget Beatrice. I 
wish very much for a copy of that. You would oblige us 
greatly by making one. Pray let me hear of your health. 
We do not know when we shall be in Rome; circum- 
stances must direct; and they dance about like will-o'-the- 
wisps, enticing and then deserting us. We must take care not 
to be left in a bog. Adieu ! take care of yourself. Believe 
me, with sincere wishes for your health, and kind remem- 
brances, 

" Ever sincerely yours, 

"Mary W. Shelley. 

" P. S. — Who was he with the long memory who remem- 
* Of the child William. — Ed. 



THE POET'S LIFE AT PISA AND LEGHORN. 159 

bered seeing nie ? Somehow, people always remember my 
features ; even those have detected my identity who have not 
seen me since I was a month old ; so I have hopes that, when 
I go to heaven, I shall easily be recognized by my old friends. 
" Do you know, we lose many letters ? — having spies (not 
Government ones) about us in plenty. They made a des- 
perate push to do us a desperate mischief lately, but succeeded 
no further than to blacken us amongst the English ; so, if you 
receive a fresh batch (or green bag) of scandal against us, I 
assure you it will be a lie. Poor souls ! we live innocently, as 
you well know ; if we did not, ten to one we should not be so 
unfortunate." 

In a letter dated September 4th, 1820, Horace Smith 
communicates to Shelley his opinion of two of his recent 
works : — 

" I got from Oilier last week a copy of the Prometheus 
Unbound, which is certainly a most original, grand, and occa- 
sionally sublime work, evincing, in my opinion, a higher order 
of talent than any of your previous productions ; and yet, 
contrary to your own estimation, I must say I prefer the Cenci, 
because it contains a deep and sustained human interest, of 
which we feel a want in the other. Prometheus himself 
certainly touches us nearly ; but we see very little of him after 
his liberation ; and, though I have no doubt it will be more 
admired than anything you have written, I question whether 
it will be so much read as the Cenci. 

" Your letter, stating your sudden intention of going to 
Paris, turned up the other day, with all the postmarks of the 
world upon it, except, I believe, Jerusalem and Seringapatam. 
Did you intrust it to the Wandering Jew V " 



160 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

FROM SHELLEY TO MR. JOHN GISBORNE. 

" Pisa, Oct 29$, 1820. 
" Dear Friend, 

" Can you tell me anything about Arabic grammars, dic- 
tionaries, and manuscripts, and whether they are vendible at 
Leghorn, and whether there are any native Arabs capable of 
teaching the language ? Do not give yourself any trouble 
about the subject ; but if you could answer or discover an 
answer to these questions without any pains, I should be very 
much obliged to you. My kind regards to Mrs. G. and Henry. 
" Yours very truly, 

" P. B. Shelley." 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 161 



CHAPTER XI. 

SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 

Early in the year 1821, the Shelleys made the 
acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the former of 
whom was drowned with the poet. Mrs. Shelley says 
of him that no man " ever existed more gentle, generous, 
and fearless." Like his illustrious friend, he was a great 
lover of boating, and the two were frequently on the 
water together, before the day which proved fatal to both. 
Shelley, indeed, enjoyed a good deal of his favorite recre- 
ation during this year. The shallow waters of the Arno, 
on which no ordinary vessel can float, did not prove any 
obstacle to him ; he contrived a boat " such as the hunts- 
men carry about with them in the Maremma, to cross the 
sluggish but deep streams that intersect the forest — a 
boat of laths and pitched canvas." * In this he fre- 
quently took little trips on the Arno, though his Italian 
friends, seeing the peril which he ran, used to remonstrate 
with him, and to prophesy — with too much truth — that 

* Mrs. Shelley. 



162 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the amusement would lead to his death. On one occa- 
sion, when he had been with a friend down the Arno and 
round the coast to Leghorn, he returned by the canal, 
when the skiff got entangled amongst some weeds, and 
was upset. The intense cold made Shelley faint ; but no 
further harm was done. " Once," writes Mrs. Shelley, 
" I went down with him to the mouth of the Arno, where 
the stream, then high and swift, met the tideless sea, and 
disturbed its sluggish waters. It was a waste and dreary 
scene ; the desert sand stretched into a point surrounded 
by waves that broke idly, though perpetually, around." 

But the water was far from engrossing Shelley's 
thoughts at this time. The south of Europe had awak- 
ened from its lethargy into a state of high political excite- 
ment, and it seemed as if the age of liberty were dawning 
in several places. Spain and Naples had been revolu- 
tionized in the previous year ; and the northern and 
central parts of Italy now endeavored to follow the ex- 
ample. Several insurrectionary movements were attended 
by temporary success ; Tuscany alone, owing to the be- 
nevolent rule of its prince, remained tranquil ; but, in the 
end, the patriots were crushed beneath the weight of 
Austrian armies. At the same period, however, a revo- 
lution began in a country farther east, which was destined 
to result, to a certain extent, in success, though Shelley 
did not live long enough to behold the issue. Greece 
declared itself independent of Ottoman domination ; and 
these combined attacks on the general foe filled Shelley 
with the utmost enthusiasm. Some Greeks were at that 
time at Pisa ; and amongst them was Prince Mavrocor- 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 163 

dato, to whom Hellas is dedicated. On the 1st of April, 
this gentleman called on the Shelleys, and told them that 
his cousin, Prince Ipsilanti, had issued a proclamation (a 
copy of which he brought with him), and that Greece 
thenceforward would be free. The emotions of joy and 
hope kindled by this intelligence in the mind of the poet 
produced the lyrical drama of Hellas, of which Shelley 
records, in his preface, that it was " written at the sugges- 
tion of the events of the moment, is a mere improvise, 
and derives its interest (should it be found to possess 
any) solely from the intense sympathy which the author 
feels with the cause he would celebrate." Nevertheless, 
it contains passages of great power, and lyrics of the 
utmost sweetness. 

In the same year, Shelley wrote that piece of radiant 
mysticism and rapturous melody, Epipsychidion. The 
subject of this poem — "the noble and unfortunate Lady 

Emilia V ," was the daughter of an Italian count, 

and was shut up in a convent by her father until such 
time as he could find for her a husband of whom he ap- 
proved. In this dreary prison, Shelley saw her, and 
was struck by her amazing beauty, by the highly culti- 
vated grace of her mind, and by the misery which she 
suffered in being debarred from all sympathy. She was 
subsequently married to a gentleman chosen for her by 
her father ; and, after pining in his society, and in the 
marshy solitudes of the Maremma, for six years, she 
left him, with the consent of her parent, and died of 
consumption in a dilapidated old mansion at Florence. 
This occurred long after the death of Shelley, who used 



164 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

frequently to visit her while she was living in the con- 
vent, and to do his utmost to ameliorate her wretched 
condition. In return, she was in the habit of sending 
him bouquets of flowers ; and one of these presents he 
thus acknowledged : — 

" Madonna, wherefore hast thou sent to me 

Sweet basil and mignonette ? 
Embleming love and health, which never yet 
In the same wreath might be. 

Alas ! and they are wet ! 
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears ? 

For never rain or dew 

Such fragrance drew 
From plant or flower. The very doubt endears 

My sadness ever new, 
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee.' , 

Another of Shelley's compositions belonging to the 
year 1821 is his Adonais. This is a monody on the 
death of Keats, who expired at Rome on the 27th of 
December, 1820, of consumption. He was attended in 
his last illness by his friend, Mr. Severn, who devoted 
himself to the dying man. They were alone, and were 
overtaken by poverty; and Mr. Severn (who was an 
artist) not only watched by the bedside of the young 
poet, day and night, soothing him in the midst of his 
frightful paroxysms of mental and bodily anguish, but 
painted small pictures during his leisure moments, and, 
sallying forth unobserved, sold them to procure the 
necessary funds. Yet even this beautiful devotion could 
not save Keats from death ; and he now lies in the 
Protestant burial-ground, whither the ashes of him who 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 165 

has celebrated his genius in verse lasting as his own 
were destined shortly to follow him. 

Adonais abounds in passion and poetry ; in bursts of 
eloquent grief; in profound glimpses into the divine mys- 
tery of the universe and of the soul of man ; and of 
keen, arrowy flashes of scorn, directed against those 
hirelings of party who endeavored to crush the genius 
of Keats, simply because he was known to be the friend 
of men who dared to speak on behalf of freedom when 
to do so was considered an eighth deadly sin. But 
Shelley was mistaken in supposing that the death of 
Keats was accelerated by the contemptible treatment he 
had met with. He regarded such things with indiffer- 
ence, and died from causes of a much deeper kind. 

Of the funeral of Keats, Shelley records in the pref- 
ace to Adonais, that he " was burried in the romantic 
and lonely cemetery of the Protestants, under the pyra- 
mid which is the tomb of Cestius, and the massy walls 
and towers, now mouldering and desolate, which formed 
the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery is an open 
space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets 
and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to 
think that one should be buried in so sweet a place." 

On the 29th of November, 1821, Shelley wrote to 
Mr. Severn, from Pisa, on the subject of the death of 
Keats : — 

" Dear Sir, 

" I send you the elegy on poor Keats, and I wish it were 
better worth your acceptance. You will see, by the preface, 



166 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

that it was written before I could obtain any particular ac- 
count of his last moments ; all that I still know was communi- 
cated to me by a friend, who had derived his information 
from Colonel Finch. I have ventured to express, as I felt, 
the respect and admiration which your conduct towards him 
demands. 

" In spite of his transcendent genius, Keats never was, nor 
ever will be, a popular poet ; and the total neglect and ob- 
scurity in which the astonishing remnants of his mind still 
lie, was hardly to be dissipated by a writer who, however he 
may differ from Keats in more important qualities, at least 
resembles him in that accidental one, a want of popu- 
larity. 

" I have little hope, therefore, that the poem I send you 
will excite any attention, nor do I feel assured that a critical 
notice of his writings would find a single reader. But for 
these considerations, it had been my intention to have col- 
lected the remnants of his compositions, and to have pub- 
lished them with a life and criticism. Has he left any poems, 
or writings of whatsoever kind, and in whose possession are 
they ? Perhaps you would oblige me by information on this 
point. 

" Percy B. Shelley." 

With respect to his Epipsychidion, and to one or two 
other poems, Shelley thus writes to Mr. Oilier : — 

"Pisa, Feb. 16th, 1821. 
" Dear Sir, 

" I send you three poems — Ode to Naples, a sonnet, 
and a longer piece, entitled Epipsychidion. The two former 
are my own ; and you will be so obliging as to take the 
first opportunity of publishing according to your own dis- 
cretion. 

" The longer poem, I desire, should not be considered as 
my own ; indeed, in a certain sense, it is a production of a 
portion of me already dead ; and in this sense the advertise- 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 167 

ment is no fiction.* It is to be published simply for the 
esoteric few ; and I make its author a secret, to avoid the 
malignity of those who turn sweet food into poison ; trans- 
forming all they touch into the corruption of their own na- 
tures. My wish with respect to it is, that it should be printed 
immediately in the simplest form, and merely one hundred 
copies ; those who are capable of judging and feeling rightly 
with respect to a composition of so abtruse a nature, certainly 
do not arrive at that number — among those, at least, who 
would ever be excited to read an obscure and anonymous pro- 
duction ; and it would give me no pleasure that the vulgar 
should read it. If you have any bookselling reason against 
publishing so small a number as a hundred, merely, distrib- 
ute copies among those to whom you think the poetry would 
afford any pleasure, and send me, as soon as you can, a copy 
by the post. I have written it so as to give very little trouble, 
I hope, to the printer, or to the person who revises. I would 
be much obliged to you if you would take this office on 
yourself. 

" Is there any expectation of a second edition of the Revolt 
of Islam f I have many corrections to make in it, and one 
part will be wholly remodelled. I am employed in high and 
new designs in verse ; but they are the labors of years, 
perhaps. 

" We expect here every day the news of a battle between 
the armies of Austria and Naples. The latter have advanced 
upon Rome ; and the first affair will probably take place in 
the Ecclesiastical States. You may imagine the expectation 
of all here. 

" Pray send me news of my intellectual children. For 

* In his preface he speaks of the poem as having been written by 
a person who " died at Florence, as he was preparing for a voyage to 
one of the wildest of the Sporades, which he had bought, and where 
it was his hope to have realized a scheme of life suited, perhaps, to 
that happier and better world of which he is now an inhabitant, but 
hardly practicable in this," The preface is signed " S." — Ed. 



168 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Prometheus, I expect and desire no great sale. The Cenci 
ought to have been popular. 

" I remain, dear Sir, 

" Your very obedient servant, 

"Percy B. Shelley." 

Some idea of the reception given to the Epipsychidion 
may be derived from a letter written by Shelley, in 
the course of October, to Mr. Gisborne. He here 

says : — 

" The Epipsycliidion is a mystery ; as to real flesh and 
blood, you know that I do not deal in those articles ; you might 
as well go to a gin-shop for a leg of mutton, as expect any- 
thing human or earthly from me. I desired Oilier not to cir- 
culate this piece, except to the ovverbi, and even they, it seems, 
are inclined to approximate me to the circle of a servant-girl 
and her sweetheart. But I intend to write a Symposium of 
my own, to set all this right." 



FROM SHELLEY TO MR. OLLIER. 

" Pisa, Feb. 22d, 1821. 
"Dear Sir, 

"Peacock's essay is at Florence at present. I have 
sent for it, and will transmit to you my paper [on Poetry] as 
soon as it is written, which will be in a very few days. Nev- 
ertheless, I should be sorry that you delayed your Magazine 
through any dependence on me. I will not accept anything 
for this paper, as I had determined to write it, and prom- 
ised it you, before I heard of your liberal arrangements ; but 
perhaps in future, if I think I have any thoughts worth pub- 
lishing, I shall be glad to contribute to your Magazine on 
those terms. Meanwhile, you are perfectly at liberty to pub- 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 169 

lish the Ode to Naples, the sonnet, or any short piece you may 
have of mine. 

" I suppose Julian and Maddalo is published. If not, do 
not add the Witch of Atlas to that peculiar piece of writing ; 
you may put my name to the Witch of Atlas, as usual. The 
piece I last sent you, I wish, as I think I told you, to be 
printed immediately, and that anonymously. I should be 
very glad to receive a few copies of it by the box, but I am 
unwilling that it should be any longer delayed. 

"I doubt about Charles the First; but, if I do write it, it 
shall be the birth of severe and high feelings. You are very 
welcome to it on the terms you mention, and, when once I see 
and feel that I can write it, it is already written.* My 
thoughts aspire to a production of a far higher character ; but 
the execution of it will require some years. I write what I 
write chiefly to inquire, by the reception which my writings 
meet with, how far I am fit for so great a task, or not. And 
I am afraid that your account will not present me with a very 
flattering result in this particular. 

" You may expect to hear from me within a week, with the 
answer to Peacock. I shall endeavor to treat the subject in 
its elements, and unveil the inmost idol of the error. 

" If any Review of note abuses me excessively, or the con- 
trary, be so kind as to send it me by post. 

" If not too late, pray send me by the box the following 
books : The most copious and correct history of the discov- 
eries of Geology. If one publication does not appear to con- 
tain what I require, send me two or three. A history of the 
late war in Spain ; I think one has been written by Southey. 
Major Somebody's account of the siege of Zaragoza ; it is a 
little pamphlet. Burnet's History of his Own Times ; and 
the Old English Drama, 3 vols. 

" Excuse my horrible pens, ink, and paper. I can get no 
pen that will mark ; or, if you will not excuse them, send me 
out some English ones. 

* The play was never finished. — Ed. 
8 



170 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" I am delighted to hear of Procter's success, and hope that 
he will proceed gathering laurels. Pray tell me how the 
Prometheus Unbound was received. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Your very obliged servant, . 
"Percy B. Shelley." 



FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

''Pisa, June 8th, 1821. 
"Dear Sir, 

"You may announce for publication a poem entitled 
Adonais. It is a lament on the death of poor Keats, with 
some interposed stabs on the assassins of his peace and of his 
fame ; and will be preceded by a criticism on Hyperion, as- 
serting the due claims which that fragment gives him to the 
rank which I have assigned him. My poem is finished, and 
consists of about forty Spenser stanzas. I shall send it you, 
either printed at Pisa, or transcribed in such a manner as it 
shall be difficult for the reviser to leave such errors as assist 
the obscurity of the Prometheus. But, in case I send it 
printed, it will be merely that mistakes may be avoided ; [so] 
that I shall only have a few copies struck off in the cheapest 
manner. 

" If you have interest enough in the subject, I could wish 
that you inquired of some of the friends and relations of Keats 
respecting the circumstances of his death, and could transmit 
me any information you may be able to collect, and especially 
as to the degree in which, as I am assured, the brutal attack 
in the Quarterly Review excited the disease by which he per- 
ished. 

" I have received no answer to my last letter to you. Have 
you received my contribution to your Magazine ? 
" Dear Sir, 

" Yours very sincerely, 

"P. B. Shelley." 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 171 

FROM SHELLEY TO MR. OLLIER. 

"Pisa, March 20th, 1821. 
" Dear Sir, 

"I send you the Defence of Poetry, Part I. It is 
transcribed, I hope, legibly. 

" I have written nothing which I do not think necessary to 
the subject. Of course, if any expressions should strike you 
as too unpopular, I give you the power of omitting them ; but 
I trust you will, if possible, refrain from exercising it. In fact, 
I hope that I have treated the question with that temper and 
spirit as to silence cavil. I propose to add two other parts in 
two succeeding Miscellanies. It is to be understood that 
although you may omit, you do not alter or add. 
" Pray let me hear from you soon. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Yours very sincerely, 

« P. B. S." 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

"Pisa, September 26th, 1821. 
"Dear Sir, 

" It will give me great pleasure if I can arrange the 
affair of Mrs. Shelley's novel with you to her and your satis- 
faction. She has a specific purpose in the sum which she 
instructed me to require; and, although this purpose could 
not be answered without ready money, yet I should find means 
to answer her wishes in that point, if you could make it con- 
venient to pay one third at Christmas, and give bills for the 
other two thirds at twelve and eighteen months. It would 
give me peculiar satisfaction that you, rather than any other 
person, should be the publisher of this work ; it is the product 
of no slight labor, and, I flatter myself, of no common talent. 
I doubt not it will give no less credit than it will receive from 



172 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

your names. I trust you know me too well to believe that my 
judgment deliberately given in testimony of the value of any 
production is influenced by motives of interest or partiality. 

" The romance is called Castruccio, Prince of Lucca, and 
is founded (not upon the novel of Macchiavelli under that 
name, which substitutes a childish fiction for the far more ro- 
mantic truth of history, but) upon the actual story of his life. 
He was a person who, from an exile and an adventurer, after 
having served in the wars of England and Flanders in the 
reign of our Edward the Second, returned to his native city, 
and, liberating it from its tyrants, became himself its tyrant, 
and died in the full splendor of his dominion, which he had 
extended over the half of Tuscany. He was a little Napo- 
leon, and, with a dukedom instead of an empire for his the- 
atre, brought upon the same all the passions and the errors of 
his antitype. The chief interest of the romance rests upon 
Euthanasia, his betrothed bride, whose love for him is only 
equalled by her enthusiasm for the liberty of the republic of 
Florence, which is in some sort her country, and for that of 
Italy, to which Castruccio is a devoted enemy, being an ally 
of the party of the Emperor. This character is a master- 
piece : and the keystone of the drama, which is built up with 
admirable art, is the conflict between these passions and these 
principles. Euthanasia, the last survivor of a noble house, is 
a feudal countess, and her castle is the scene of the exhibition 
of the knightly manners of the time. The character of Bea- 
trice, the prophetess, can only be done justice to in the very 
language of the author. I know nothing in Walter Scott's 
novels which at all approaches to the beauty and the sublimity 
of this — creation, I may almost say, for it is perfectly orig- 
inal ; and, although founded upon the ideas and manners of 
the age which is represented, is wholly without a similitude in 
any fiction I ever read. Beatrice is in love with Castruccio, 
and dies ; for the romance, although interspersed with much 
lighter matter, is deeply tragic, and the shades darken and 
gather as the catastrophe approaches. All the manners, cus- 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 173 

toms, opinions of the age are introduced; the superstitions, 
the heresies, and the religious persecutions, are displayed ; the 
minutest circumstance of Italian manners in that age is not 
omitted ; and the whole seems to me to constitute a living and 
a moving picture of an age almost forgotten. The author 
visited the scenery which she describes in person ; and one 
or two of the inferior characters are drawn from her own ob- 
servation of the Italians, for the national character shows 
itself still in certain instances under the same forms as it wore 
in the time of Dante.* The novel consists, as I told you be- 
fore, of three volumes, each at least equal to one of the Tales 
of my Landlord, and they will be very soon ready to be sent. 
In case you should accept the present offer, I will make one 
observation which I consider of essential importance. It 
ought to be printed in half volumes at a time, and sent to the 
author for her last corrections by the post. It may be printed 
on thin paper like that of this letter, and the expense shall 
fall upon me. Lord Byron has his works sent in this manner ; 
and no person, who has either fame to lose or money to win, 
ought to publish in any other manner. 

" By the bye, how do I stand with regard to these two great 
objects of human pursuit ? I once sought something nobler 
and better than either ; but I might as well have reached at 
the moon, and now, finding that I have grasped the air, I 
should not be sorry to know what substantial sum, especially 
of the former, is in your hands on my account. The gods 

*The book here alluded to was ultimately published under the 
title of Valperga. Mrs. Shelley received 400/. for the copyright ; and 
this sum was generously devoted to the relief of Godwin's pecuniary 
difficulties. In a letter to Mrs. Gisborne, dated June 30th, 1821, Mrs. 
Shelley says that she first formed the conception at Marlow ; that this 
took a more definite shape at Naples ; that the work was delayed sev- 
eral times; and that it was "a child of mighty slow growth." It 
was also, she says, a work of labor, as she had read and consulted a 
great many books. — Ed. 



174 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

have made the reviewers the almoners of this worldly dross, 
and I think I must write an ode to flatter them to give me 
some ; if I would not that they put me off with a bill on pos- 
terity, which when my ghost shall present, the answer will be 
— ' no effects.' 

" Charles the First is conceived, but not born. Unless I am 
sure of making something good, the play will not be written. 
Pride, that ruined Satan, will kill Charles the First, for his 
midwife would be only less than him whom thunder has made 
greater. I am full of great plans ; and, if I should tell you 
them, I should add to the list of these riddles. 

" I have not seen Mr. Procter's Mirandola. Send it me in 
the box, and pray send me the box immediately. It is of the 
utmost consequence; and, as you are so obliging as to say 
you will not neglect my commissions, pray send this without 
delay. I hope it is sent, indeed, and that you have recollected 
to send me several copies of Prometheus, the Revolt of Islam, 
and the Cenci, &c, as I requested you. Is there any chance 
of a second edition of the Revolt of Islam f I could materi- 
ally improve that poem on revision. The Adonais, in spite 
of its mysticism, is the least imperfect of my compositions, and, 
as the image of my regret and honor for poor Keats, I wish it 
to be so. I shall write to you, probably, by next post, on the 
subject of that poem, and should have sent the promised crit- 
icism for the second edition, had I not mislaid, and in vain 
sought for, the volume that contains Hyperion. Pray give me 
notice against what time you want the second part of my De- 
fence of Poetry. I give you this Defence, and you may do 
what you will with it. 

" Pray give me an immediate answer about the novel. 
" I am, my dear Sir, 

" Your very obliged servant, 

" Percy B. Shelley. 

"I ought to tell you that the novel has not the smallest 
tincture of any peculiar theories in politics or religion." 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 175 

FROM SHELLEY TO MR. OLLIER. 

"Pisa, Nov, Uth, 1821. 
" Dear Sir, 

" I send you the drama of Hellas, relying on your assur- 
ance that you will be good enough to pay immediate attention 
to my literary requests. What little interest this poem may 
ever excite, depends upon its immediate publication ; I entreat 
you, therefore, to have the goodness to send the MS. instantly 
to a printer, and the moment you get a proof despatch it to 
me by the post. The whole might be sent at once. Lord By- 
ron has his poem sent to him in this manner, and I cannot see 
that the inferiority in the composition of a poem can affect the 
powers of a printer in the matter of despatch, &c. If any 
passages should alarm you in the notes, you are at liberty to 
suppress them ; the poem contains nothing of a tendency to 
danger. 

" Do not forget my other questions. I am especially curious 
to hear the fate of Adonais. I confess I should be surprised 
if that poem were born to an fmmortality of oblivion. 

" Within a few days I may have to write to you on a sub- 
ject of greater interest. Meanwhile, I rely on your kindness 
for carrying my present request into immediate effect. 
" Dear Sir, 

" Your very faithful servant, 

"Percy B. Shelley. 

" I need not impress on you the propriety of giving a 
speedy answer to Mrs. S.'s proposal. Her volumes are now 
ready for the press. The Ode to Napoleon to print at the end." 

The calumnies heaped upon Shelley by his unscrupu- 
lous detractors often gave him great pain. In writing to 
Mr. Oilier, on the 11th of June, 1821, he says: — "I 
hear that the abuse against me exceeds all bounds. Pray, 



176 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

if you see any one article particularly outrageous, send it 
me. As yet, I have laughed ; but woe to these scoun- 
drels if they should once make me lose my temper ! I 
have discovered that my calumniator in the Quarterly 
Review was the Rev. Mr. Milman. Priests have their 
privilege." 

Malicious reports seemed to track him wherever he 
went ; and one of these is the subject of some letters 
which will be found below. Mrs. Shelley writes in her 
journal, under date August 4th : — " Shelley is gone to 
see Lord Byron at Ravenna. This is his [Shelley's] 
birthday ; seven years are now gone — what changes ! 
We now appear tranquil ; yet who knows what wind — 
But I will not prognosticate evil ; we have had enough 
of it. "When we arrived in Italy, I said, all is well if it 
were permanent. It was more passing than an Italian 
twilight. I now say the same : may it be a Polar day ! 
— yet that, too, has an end." They had passed a very 
pleasant summer, having both derived great enjoyment 
from frequently going to see some friends living at the 
village of Pugnano. They reached that place by the 
canal, " which, fed by the Serchio, was, though an arti- 
ficial, a full and picturesque stream, making its way 
under verdant banks sheltered by trees that dipped their 
boughs into the murmuring waters. By day, multitudes 
of ephemera darted to and fro on the surface ; at night, 
the fire-flies came out among the shrubs on the banks ; 
the cicale at noonday kept up their hum ; the aziola 
cooed in the quiet evening." * Yet, as Mrs. Shelley 
* Notes to the Poems. 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 177 

prognosticated in her diary, their happiness was soon to 
be dashed. Shelley writes from Ravenna on August 
7th: — 

"My dearest Mary, 

" I arrived last night at ten o'clock, and sat up talking 
with Lord Byron until five o'clock this morning. I then went to 
sleep, and now awake at eleven, and, having despatched my 
breakfast as quick as possible, mean to devote the interval 

until twelve, when the post departs, to you 

" Lord Byron has told me of a circumstance that shocks me 
exceedingly, because it exhibits a degree of desperate and 
wicked malice for which I am at a loss to account. When I 
hear such things, my patience and my philosophy are put to a 
severe proof, whilst I refrain from seeking out some obscure 
hiding-place, where the countenance of man may never meet 
me more. 

" Imagine my despair of good ; imagine how it is possible 
that one of so weak and sensitive a nature as mine can run 
further the gauntlet through this hellish society of men. You 
should write to the Hoppners a letter refuting the charge, in 
case you believe and know, and can prove that it is false ; 
stating the grounds and proofs of your belief. I need not dic- 
tate what you should say ; nor, I hope, inspire you with warmth 
to rebut a charge which you only effectually can rebut." 

To this letter, Mrs. Shelley thus replied : — 

"My dear Shelley, 

" Shocked beyond all measure as I was, I instantly wrote 
the enclosed. If the task be not too dreadful, pray copy it for 
me. I cannot. 

" Read that part of your letter which contains the accusa- 
tion. I tried, but I could not write it. I think I could as soon 
have died. I send also Elise's last letter ; enclose it or not, as 
you think best. 

8* 



178 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" I wrote to you with far different feelings last night, beloved 
friend. Our bark is indeed ' tempest-tost ; ' but love me, as 
you have ever done, and God preserve my child to me, and 
our enemies shall not be too much for us. Consider well if 
Florence be a fit residence for us. I love, I own, to face 
danger ; but I would not be imprudent. 

" Pray get my letter to Mrs. H. copied, for a thousand rea- 
sons. Adieu, dearest ! Take care of yourself — all yet is well. 
The shock for me is over, and I now despise the slander ; but 
it must not pass uncontradicted. I sincerely thank Lord 
Byron for his kind unbelief. 

" Affectionately yours, 

"M. W. S." 

" Friday. 
" Do not think me imprudent in mentioning C.'s illness at 
Naples. It is well to meet facts. They are as cunning as 
wicked. I have read over my letter ; it is written in haste ; 
but it were as well that the first burst of feeling should be 
expressed. No letters." 

FROM SHELLEY TO MRS. SHELLEY. 

" Thursday, Ravenna. 

"I have received your letter with that to Mrs. Hoppner. 
I do not wonder, my dearest friend, that you should have been 
moved. I was at first, but speedily regained the indifference 
which the opinion of anything or anybody, except our own 
consciousness, amply merits, and day by day shall more re- 
ceive from me. I have not recopied your letter — such a 
measure would destroy its authenticity — but have given it to 
Lord Byron, who has engaged to send it, with his own com- 
ments, to the Hoppners. 

" People do not hesitate, it seems, to make themselves pan- 
ders and accomplices to slander ; for the Hoppners had exacted 
from Lord Byron that these accusations should be concealed 
from me. Lord Byron is not a man to keep a secret, good or 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 179 

bad; but, in openly confessing that be bas not done so, be 
must observe a certain delicacy, and therefore wished to send 
tbe letter himself; and indeed this adds weight to your repre- 
sentations. 

" Have you seen the article in the Literary Gazette on me ? 
They evidently allude to some story of this kind. However 
cautious the Hoppners have been in preventing the calum- 
niated person from asserting his justification, you know too 
much of the world not to be certain that this was the utmost 
limit of their caution. So much for nothing. 

yfc yfc vie yf: $fc 

" My greatest comfort would be utterly to desert all human 
society. I would retire with you and our children to a soli- 
tary island in the sea ; would build a boat, and shut upon my 
retreat the floodgates of the world. I would read no reviews, 
and talk with no authors. If I dared trust my imagination, it 
would tell me that there are one or two chosen companions, 
besides yourself, whom I should desire. But to this I would 
not listen. Where two or three are gathered together, the 
devil is among them ; and good, far more than evil, impulses 
— love, far more than hatred — has been to me, except as you 
have been its object, the source of all sorts of mischief. So, on 
this plan, I would be alone, and would devote, either to ob- 
livion or to future generations, the overflowings of a mind 
which, timely withdrawn from the contagion, should be kept 
fit for no baser object. But this it does not appear that we 
shall do. 

" The other side of the alternative (for a medium ought not 
to be adopted) is to form for ourselves a society of our own 
class, as much as possible, in intellect or in feelings ; and to 
connect ourselves with the interests of that society. Our roots 
never struck so deeply as at Pisa, and the transplanted tree 
flourishes not. People who lead the lives which we led until 
last winter, are like a family of Wahabee Arabs pitching their 
tent in the middle of London. We must do one thing or the 
other; for yourself — for our child — for our existence. The 



180 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

calumnies, the sources of which are probably deeper than we 
perceive, have ultimately for object the depriving us of the 
means of security and subsistence. You will easily perceive 
the gradations by which calumny proceeds to pretext, pretext 
to persecution, and persecution to the ban of fire and water. 
It is for this — and not because this or that fool, or the whole 
court of fools curse and rail — that calumny is worth refuting 
or chastising." 

But from these painful details let us pass to other 
subjects. 

At one time during the year 1821, Shelley thought 
of taking a farm situated amongst chestnut and pine- 
woods on one of the hills near the Serchio — a position 
commanding a magnificent prospect. Another fancy 
was to settle still further in the maritime Apennines at 
Massa. His greatest desire, however, was to spend his 
summers on the shores of the sea ; and, having one day 
made an excursion to Spezzia, he was so delighted with 
the beauty of the bay, that he ultimately took a house 
there. This was not until the following year ; for it was 
long before a suitable residence could be found. The 
Villa Magni was the name of the house, and it was the 
last which Shelley occupied. 

He looked . forward, with great pleasure, to seeing 
Leigh Hunt in the autumn of 1821 ; but the gratifica- 
tion was delayed till the following summer. The jour- 
nalist was to join Lord Byron in the production of a 
quarterly magazine, to be called the Liberal, and Byron 
wished Shelley to unite with them. This the latter de- 
clined to do, because, according to Mrs. Shelley, he did 
not like to appear desirous of acquiring readers by asso- 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 181 

dating his poetry with the writings of more popular 
authors ; and also because that association might have 
had the effect of shackling him in the expression of his 
opinions. But he subsequently modified his determina- 
tion, to the extent of contributing a few of his produc- 
tions, though he always refused to be in any way con- 
nected with the undertaking in a pecuniary point of 
view. The first number did not appear till shortly after 
his death. 

On the 1st of November, Byron arrived at Pisa, 
where he established himself. Leigh Hunt did not 
reach Italy till several months later. Shelley was now 
a good deal in the society of Byron ; between whom 
and himself, however, a perfect cordiality seemed never 
to exist. The author of ■ Childe Harold has confessed 
in one of his letters, that, much as he admired and es- 
teemed Shelley, the feeling did not amount to entire 
friendship — an emotion which he could realize only 
with regard to one of the companions of his childhood. 
And Shelley, in the presence of Byron, felt somewhat 
oppressed by the weight of what he conceived to be his 
Lordship's superior poetical powers ; though on this point 
the world is rapidly reversing contemporary judgment. 
In writing to a friend, Shelley speaks of Byron's genius 
reducing him to despair ; an excess of modesty to which, 
perhaps, may be attributed the comparatively small num- 
ber of his compositions at this time. 

On the 28th of March, Horace Smith, who had kindly 
undertaken the management of Shelley's money matters 
in London, addressed a letter to his friend, touching the 
sudden stoppage of his income : — 



182 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" My dear Shelley, 

" I called to-day at Brookes and Co.'s for your money, 
as usual, and was not a little surprised to be told that they 
had received notice not to advance anything more on your 
account, as the payments to them would in future be discon- 
tinued ; but they could give me no information why this alter- 
ation had occurred, or whether you were apprised of it. Per- 
haps you have been, though you could hardly have failed to 
mention it to me. But I will call again, and endeavor to get 
some solution of the apparent mystery. Meantime, if you are 
in any straits, you had better draw on me, at the Stock Ex- 
change, for what you want. I would remit you, but that, 
knowing you are not over-regular in matters of business, you 
may, perhaps, have made new arrangements for your money, 
and, through inadvertency, omitted to apprise me. 

" Now that Italy has become the scene of war, a letter from 
you now and then, when you have any recent political news, 
would not only be gratifying, but, perhaps, useful in the way 
of business. The papers of to-day affirm that the Spanish 
Constitution has been proclaimed at Florence ; and, for my 
own part, I have little doubt that, if the Austrians be defeated 
in the first instance, (which God grant !) the whole of Italy will 
be convulsed and revolutionized. In this anxious suspense, I 
must await the course of events, and hope to receive some 
communications from you. 

" You ask in what periodical works I write. Principally in 
Baldwin's London Magazine, under various signatures, but 
generally H. ; and also in the New Monthly, edited by Camp- 
bell, the poet. Poor Scott ! what a melancholy termination ! 
and how perfectly unnecessary ! * Christie and the two 
seconds will surrender and take their trial at the Old Bailey 

* Scott was the editor of the London Magazine, and was killed in a 
duel with a Mr. Christie, arising out of some strong remarks which he 
(Scott) had made on the writers in Blackivood's Magazine. The sec- 
onds were blamed for allowing another interchange of shots; but they 
were acquitted on their trial. — Ed. 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 183 

Sessions next month. We are raising a subscription for Scott's 
family. 

" You never said anything of Keats, who I see died at Rome 
under lamentable circumstances, and whom all lovers of poetry 
may regret, as a young genius destined to do great things. I 
have a sympathetic feeling for your ophthalmia, having myself 
lately suffered from a complaint in the eyes, but am now nearly 
recovered. 

" Nothing strikingly new in literature, or in our domestic 
policy, although the battle between the suffering agriculturists 
and the fund-holders is obviously approximating. They (the 
former) already hope to abolish the malt-tax, on which our 
nominal sinking fund mainly relies. Another bad year, and 
they must reduce the interest, or replace the alarming defalca- 
tion of revenue by new loans. It is all working together for 
good ; for it is by this explosion only that we can have the 
smallest chance of Reform. 

" If I learn anything further about the money, I shall write 
you again shortly. Meantime, I am always, 

u Dear Shelley, 
u Yours most faithfully, 

" Horatio Smith." 

In his zeal for his friend's cause, Horace Smith thus 
addressed Sir Timothy Shelley on the subject of the 
money : — 

" Fulliam, April 13th, 1821. 
" Sir, 

" Though I have not the honor of your acquaintance, I 
venture to hope that the circumstances which I am about to 
state will plead my excuse for intruding myself upon your 
attention. I feel pride in declaring myself the particular 
friend of Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley, for whom I have been in 
the habit of receiving his quarterly income, and remitting it 
myself to Italy, for the purpose of saving brokerage and 
agency charges. Knowing my intimacy with your son, Dr. 



184 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

Hume * applied to me last year, stating that he was in arrear ; 
at which I expressed my surprise, as I assured him that Mr. 
Shelley never drew more than 220Z., leaving the 30/. regularly 
for his use. I mentioned his application in more than one let- 
ter to Italy, and on the 14th of November wrote to Dr. Hume 
the following letter : — 

[ u In this letter f I gave an extract of P. B. S.'s letter to 
me, saying he had scrupulously and regularly left the SOL in 
the banker's hands, and they had orders to pay it regularly ; 
expressing my own conviction that Dr. H. would get it on 
application.] 

" To this letter I never received any reply ; from which I 
very naturally concluded that the money was paid, and ex- 
pressed this belief and conviction in my next communication 
to Mr. Shelley. Thus the affair rested till I called, on the 
28th March last, with my usual order on Messrs. Brookes and 
Co. for 220Z. ; by whom I was informed that the payment of 
Mr. Shelley's income was stopped — whether permanently or 
temporarily, they could not tell me ; nor could they afford me 
any explanation whatever, none having been given to them. 
This inexplicable occurrence was made known by me to Mr. 
Shelley on the following day. 

" It was not until after a good deal of personal trouble and 
inquiry that I learned the real state of the case, and the in- 
stitution of legal proceedings ; and, having a thorough con- 
viction that Mr. Shelley had left the money at the bankers, I 
believed it to be paid. I called on Messrs. Wright and Co., 
and found, as I suspected, that the money had all along been 
lying in their hands to the amount of Dr. Hume's claim within 
a trifle (which I presume are postages or some petty charges, 
with which Mr. Shelley was unacquainted), and that they had 

* The custodian of Shelley's children by his first wife. — Ed. 

f The part here enclosed in brackets was inserted in a copy of the 
letter to Sir Timothy, afterwards sent by Horace Smith to his friend. 
A copy, in full, of the letter to Dr. Hume was of course sent to the 
baronet. — Ed. 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 185 

only been prevented paying it at once by the want of a regu- 
lar, formal check or order. You will observe he says, in his 
letter to rue : — 'I have regularly and scrupulously left SOL 
from my income for Dr. Hume's draft ; ' but it is probable that, 
although he told the bankers he left it for Dr. Hume, he 
omitted to lodge a regular credit for his drafts — an oversight 
for which his inexperience of business supplies a sufficient ex- 
planation and excuse. Why this inquiry was not made at the 
bankers before the institution of law proceedings ; why no 
application was made to me to get the irregularity rectified, 
which I would have pledged myself to have done ; why 
nothing was said to him ; why 250Z. was finally impounded 
to pay 1 20Z. — are points of which I will not offer any so- 
lution. 

" I cannot find that Mr. Shelley has received from any 
quarter the smallest intimation of these proceedings. He 
has been left in a foreign country without the means of 
present subsistence, and must have been exposed to the most 
distressing suspense and anxiety from the sudden announce- 
ment of the cessation of his income without a syllable of ex- 
planation. 

" To conduct so harsh and unmerited, and evincing such a 
total disregard to his feelings, you, sir, I am sure, would never 
have become a party, but from some great misapprehension of 
the real circumstances of the case. It is to remove this er- 
roneous impression, and to prove to you, as I trust I have 
done effectually, that Mr. Shelley has been guilty of nothing 
but a little ignorance of the precise forms of bankers' busi- 
ness, that I have ventured to trouble you with this long ex- 
planation. My sincere respect and attachment to that gentle- 
man would not allow me to be silent when I thought him 
aggrieved ; and, in the hope that this feeling will plead my 
excuse for intruding upon your time, I beg to subscribe myself 
respectfully, &c, &c, 

" H. Smith." 



186 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

FROM HORACE SMITH TO SHELLEY. 

" Fulham, April 17th, 1821.. 
" My dear Shelley, 

" I wrote you on the 3d of this month, and I have been 
engaged in warlike operations for you ever since. I have a 
long story to tell. Determined to ferret out the mystery of 
this Chancery suit, I went from one place to another making 
inquiries ; and, as Dr. Hume made no reply to my first letter, 
I wrote him a second, which, after an interval of several days, 
extorted the reply of which I send you a copy. On the same 
day when this came to hand, I called on Mr. Longdill, whom 
I understood to be your friend, when he at once confessed 
that he was a party to the proceedings against you, in order, 
as he said, to get Dr. Hume paid, whom he had himself rec- 
ommended as custodian to the children.* He did not seem 
to believe that the SOL had been left at Brookes's, and I found 
had never written to you, as he asked where you were. I 
went to the bankers' — back to him — was told by him that 
the law charges were now all incurred, and that it was too 
late to stay proceedings. From him I came home, chewing 
the cud of indignation, and, on my arrival, Hume's letter was 
put into my hand, whence I found that Sir Timothy was also 
made a party, and observed the alacrity with which Mr. 
Whitton had recommended Chancery applications, and the 
impounding of 250Z. to pay 120Z. On a review of the whole 
affair, it did appear such a cowardly cabal against an absent 
man — it evinced such an insulting indifference to your feel- 
ings — it appeared so cruel that, amid so many parties (some 
calling themselves your friends), not one could be found to 
give a hint to you or me — that, in a towering passion, I sat 
down and wrote to Dr. Hume, finding the utmost difficulty to 

* It will be recollected that, at the time of Lord Eldon's decree 
Mr. Longdill was Shelley's legal adviser; which renders his subse- 
quent conduct very extraordinary. — Ed. 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 187 

restrain my indignation within civil bounds. Read this letter, 
and tell ine whether I do not deserve credit for subduing my 
feelings to such- temperate language. 

* " Yesterday, I wrote to Sir Timothy, of which also you have 
a copy, and in which no want of respect can be imputed to 
me. This night, I have received the enclosed from Mr. Long- 
dill, whose conscience, I suppose, has directed some of my 
innuendoes to his own bosom, and, with the usual self-betrayal 
of a man who feels he has done wrong, he has recourse to vul- 
garity and abuse. 

" From Sir Timothy I do not expect any reply, and here, 
therefore, so far as I am concerned, the matter will probably 
end. My bitter and uncontrollable scorn of all paltry under- 
hand proceedings may have led me to interfere unnecessarily 
or intemperately ; but, as I thought it very likely that your 
conduct had been blazoned to Sir Timothy in the blackest col- 
ors, I determined on letting him know how the matter really 
stood. Perhaps it might not be amiss if you were to write him 
a respectful, explanatory letter. 

" You will observe that Mr. Westbrooke is a party to the 
suit, and probably, as there can be no defence, it will be de- 
cided against you ; but I suppose they will make some arrange- 
ment for cancelling the order in the event of the death of one 
or both of the children. I suppose, also, you will have the 
pleasure of paying the law charges of this application ; but, as 
I have cut myself off from the honor of any communication 
with the gentlemen who have treated you with so much respect, 
I must receive my next intelligence from you, which pray give 
me, soon as you can. 

" As affairs seem all settling in Italy, I resume my intention 
of taking you by the hand. My wife has a daughter, and is 
doing perfectly well. I expect we shall be ready to start in 
July or August. Will that be too hot, and would you prefer- 
ably recommend October ? Let me hear from you fully, and 
believe me always, My dear Shelley, 

" Yours very sincerely, 

"Horatio Smith." 



188 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

FROM HORACE SMITH TO SHELLEY. 

" London, April 19th, 1821. 
"Dear Shelley, 

" I wrote you on the 17th inst, with a budget of letters 
relative to this lawsuit ; and annexed I hand you a copy of 
Sir Timothy's reply, received yesterday. I am most glad that 
1 wrote to him, for it turns out that my conjecture that he was 
unacquainted with the affair is correct, and that the law pro- 
ceedings were literally cooked up by the lawyers. It appears 
a most scandalous liberty in Mr. Whitton, not only to make 
your father a party without his privity, but actually to stop 
your money on his own authority. I have this day written a 
few lines to Sir Timothy, stating that I had seen a letter at 
Wright's from Whitton, certainly implying that he had com- 
municated with Sir T. ; and I leave the lawyer to get out of 
this dilemma as well as he can. Of Whitton I know nothing ; 
but I seem to dislike him by instinct. Having written you so 
many letters lately, I have nothing further to say than to re- 
peat the pleasant assurance that I shall this summer or autumn 
take you by the hand, when we can talk over all these matters 
" I am, my dear Shelley, 
" Ever yours, 

"Horatio Smith." 

from sir timothy shelley to horace smith. 

"Bath, 17th April, 1821. 
" Sir, 

" Your letter of the 13th inst. I received this day. 'Tis 
the first intimation I have had of the business you allude to, 
either in law proceedings or otherwise, more than last year I 
did hear the payment had been countermanded ; but, hearing 
nothing further, I concluded it had been rectified. 

" I shall lay your letter before my solicitor, to be informed 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 189 

of any circumstances that may have necessarily arisen that 
concern my name as a party. 

" I have the honor to be, Sir, 

" Your obedient servant, 

"T. Shelley." 



FROM HORACE SMITH TO SHELLEY. 

" Paris, August 30th, 1821. 
"My dear Shelley, 

"I wrote you on the 10th, and have since had the pleas- 
ure of receiving yours, by Mr. and Mrs. Gisborne, who made 
a very short stay here, and left us a few days ago for England. 

" He handed me also your poem on Keats's death, which I 
like, with the exception of the Cenci, better than anything you 
have written, finding in it a great deal of fancy, feeling, and 
beautiful language, with none of the metaphysical abstraction 
which is so apt to puzzle the uninitiated in your productions. 
It reminded me of Lycidas, more from the similarity of the 
subject than anything in the mode of treatment. 

u You must expect a fresh stab from Southey whenever he 
has an opportunity. Mrs. G. also left me a copy for Moore, 
who is residing in the neighborhood of Paris, though I have 
not seen him. 

" About a fortnight ago, my wife became worse, and the 
weather setting in about the same time with an unusual in- 
tensity of heat, so completely overcame her that I was obliged 
to have medical advice, and the physician (an Englishman 
settled here) dissuades me from taking her to a more southern 
latitude. Terrified at the intensity of the heat here, where un- 
fortunately it has been of a very uncommon fierceness, she now 
dreads encountering the sun of Italy ; and, in the face of these 
insuperable dissuasives, I cannot of course proceed. The disap- 
pointment and vexation of this sudden overthrow of all my 
long cherished plans is not less painful to me than the cause of it 
is distressing. I have also to regret the trouble I have unneces- 



190 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

sarily given you, and the disappointment (for I have vanity- 
enough to believe you will think it such) to which I have ex- 
posed you. In the midst of these more serious annoyances, I 
have hardly time to attend to the petty inconveniences to 
which we must be subjected by wintering here without any of 
our clothes, books, or comforts, all of which have been shipped 
to Leghorn. I think of taking a house at Versailles, but at 
present I am quite unsettled in everything. When I have ar- 
ranged my plans, I shall write to you again ; till when, and 
always, 

" I am, my dear Shelley, 

" Your very sincere and disappointed friend, 
" Horatio Smith. 

Towards the close of December, Mrs. Shelley wrote a 
letter to Mrs. Gisborne, in which she says : — 

" Since writing my last letter, we have heard of the de- 
parture of Hunt,* and now anxiously await his arrival. He 
will be more comfortable than he dreams of now ; for Lord 
Byron has furnished the pian terreno of his own house for 
him, so that (more lucky than the rest of the economical Eng- 
lish, who come here) he will find clean and spacious apart- 
ments, with every comfort about him, and a climate- — such a 
climate ! We dine in a room without a fire, with all the win- 
dows open ; a tramontano reigns, which renders the sky clear, 
and the warm sun pours into our apartments. It is cold at 
night, but as yet not uncomfortably so ; and it now verges 
towards Christmas-day. I am busy in arranging Hunt's 
rooms, since that task devolves upon me. 

" Lord Byron is now living very sociably, giving dinners 
to his male acquaintance, and writing divinely. Perhaps by 

* Leigh Hunt and his family had indeed departed, but were driven 
back by stress of weather ; so that their voyage was postponed for 
some months. — Ed. 



SHELLEY AND BYRON AT PISA. 191 

this time you have seen Cam, and will agree with us in think- 
ing it his finest production. Of some works one says — one 
has thought of such things, though one could not have ex- 
pressed them so well. It is not thus with Cain. One has, 
perhaps, stood on the extreme verge of such ideas, and from 
the midst of the darkness which had surrounded us the voice 
of the poet now is heard, telling a wondrous tale. 

" Our friends in Greece are getting on famously. All the 
Morea is subdued, and much treasure was acquired with the 
capture of Tripoliza. Some cruelties have ensued ; but the 
oppressor must in the end buy tyranny with blood ; such is 
the law of necessity. The young Greek Prince you saw at our 
house is made the head of the Provisional Government in 
Greece. He has sacrificed his whole fortune to his country ; 
and, heart and soul, is bent upon her cause. 

" You will be glad to hear that Shelley's health is much 
improved this winter. He is not quite well, but he is much 
better. The air of Pisa is so mild and delightful, and the 
exercise on horseback agrees with him particularly. Williams, 
also, is quite recovered. We think that we may probably 
spend next summer at La Spezzia — at least, I hope that we 
shall be near the sea. 

" The clock strikes twelve. I have taken to sit up rather 
late this last month, and, when all the world is in bed or 
asleep, find a little of that solitude one cannot get in a town 
through the day. Yet daylight brings with it all the delights 
of a town residence, and all the delights of friendly and social 
intercourse — few of the pains; for my horizon is so con- 
tracted that it shuts most of those out. 

" Most sincerely yours, 

" Mary W. S." 



192 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 

The end now rapidly approaches. We have arrived 
at the year which saw the close of Shelley's short life ; 
but a few minor incidents remain to be recorded before 
we stand in the presence of death. 

The winter of 1822 was spent at Pisa. Shelley, dur- 
ing part of the time, was engaged on the dramatic frag- 
ment, Charles the First — a subject which he had at one 
time proposed to Mrs. Shelley ; but, being dissatisfied 
with the progress he was making, he threw aside the 
conception, and devoted his thoughts to a mystical poem 
in the terza rima, called the Triumph of Life — also left 
incomplete, and the last of his long productions. He 
likewise, about the same time, made several translations 
from Goethe, Calderon, Homer, &c, with a view to their 
publication in the Liberal. 

In the January of this year, or towards the end of the 
previous December, Shelley became acquainted with Mr. 
Trelawny, who called on him at Pisa, and who, in his 
recently published Recollections of the last Days of Shel- 
ley and Byron, has given an interesting account of his 
introduction. It was dusk when he arrived at the poet's 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 193 

residence, and through the open door of the room he 
observed a pair of glittering eyes. Mrs. Williams, who 
lived in the same house, exclaimed, " Come in, Shelley ; 
it's only our friend Tre, just arrived." Thus encour- 
aged, the poet glided in, in some confusion, but holding 
out both his hands cordially. He was habited in a jacket, 
which he seemed to have outgrown, and which added to 
his juvenile appearance. A book was in his hand, which 
proved to be Calderon's Magico Prodigioso ; and, being 
asked to read some passages, he made an extempore 
rendering of several parts with marvellous ease and 
rapidity, accompanying his translation by a masterly 
analysis of the genius of the author, and a lucid inter- 
pretation of the story. Suddenly he disappeared; and 
Mrs. Williams, in answer to the astonishment of Mr. 
Trelawny, said, " Oh, he comes and goes like a spirit ; 
no one knows when or where." Shelley, however, had 
simply gone to fetch his wife. From this time until the 
poet's death, Mr. Trelawny was on intimate terms with 
him. 

Mrs. Shelley's opinion of their new friend may be 
gathered from an entry in her journal, under date 
January 19th, 1822:— *' 

" Trelawny is extravagant — partly natural, and partly, 
perhaps, put on ; but it suits him well ; and, if his abrupt, 
but not unpolished, manners be assumed, they are never- 
theless in unison with his Moorish face (for he looks 
Oriental, though not Asiatic), his dark hair, his Hercu- 
lean form. And then there is an air of extreme good- 
nature, which pervades his whole countenance, especially 

9 



194 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

when he smiles, — which assures me that his heart is 
good. He tells strange stories of himself — horrific 
ones — so that they harrow one up ; while with his 
emphatic, but unmodulated, voice, his simple, yet strong 
language, he portrays the most frightful situations. 
Then, all these adventures took place between the ages 
of thirteen and twenty. I believe them now I see the 
man ; and, tired with the every-day sleepiness of human 
intercourse, I am glad to meet with one who, among 
other valuable qualities, has the rare merit of interesting 
my imagination." 

And, in a letter addressed to Mrs. Gisborne on the 9 th 
of February, Mrs. Shelley says : — " Trelawny [is] a 
kind of half- Arab Englishman, whose life has been as 
changeful as that of Anastasius, and who recounts the 
adventures of his youth as eloquently and well as the 
imagined Greek. He is clever ; for his moral qualities, 
I am yet in the dark. He is a strange web, which I am 
endeavoring to unravel. I would fain learn if generosity 
is united to impetuousness, nobility of spirit to his assump- 
tion of singularity and independence. He is six feet 
high ; raven black hair which curls thickly and shortly 
like a Moor's ; dark gray, expressive eyes ; overhanging 
brows ; upturned lips, and a smile which expresses good- 
nature and kind-heartedness. His voice is monotonous, 
yet emphatic ; and his language, as he relates the events 
of his life, energetic and simple. Whether the tale be 
one of blood and horror, or of irresistible comedy, his 
company is delightful, for he excites me to think, and, if 
any evil share the intercourse, that time will unveil." 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 195 

It was not many months before the writer had a 
terrible means of judging the sterling worth and kind- 
ness of her new friend's character. 

The fatal project of the boat was suggested by Mr. 
Trelawny very early in the year; and, on the 15th of 
January, as recorded in Williams's journal, the former 
gentleman brought with him the model of an American 
schooner, after which design it was proposed that a craft 
thirty feet long should be built. It appears, however, 
that ultimately a design to which Williams had taken a 
fancy was adopted. Mr. Trelawny at once wrote to 
Captain Roberts, a nautical friend, at Genoa, to com- 
mence the work directly. Shelley and Williams were to 
be the joint proprietors of this boat, which, when com- 
pleted, was called the " Don Juan." On the passage in 
Williams's diary recording the discussion of the details 
of the project, Mrs. Shelley has written this note : — 

" Thus, on that night — one of gayety and thoughtless- 
ness — Jane's * and my miserable destiny was decided. 
We then said, laughing, to each other : ' Our husbands 
decide without asking our consent, or having our con- 
currence ; for, to tell you the truth, I hate this boat, 
though I say nothing.' Said Jane, ' So do I ; but speak- 
ing would be useless, and only spoil their pleasure.' 
How well I remember that night ! How short-sighted 
we are ! And now that its anniversary is come and 
gone, methinks I cannot be the wretch I too truly am." 

A mysterious intimation of the great calamity that was 

* Mrs. Williams. 



196 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

fast approaching seems to have hung like a cloud over 
the spirits of Mrs. Shelley at this time. She records in 
her diary that, on the evening of February 7th, she went 
to a ball ; and this gives rise to some singular reflection?. 
" During a long, long evening in mixed society," she 
writes, u how often do one's sensations change ; and, swift 
as the west wind drives the shadows of clouds across the 
sunny hills or the w r aving corn, so sw r ift do sentiments 
pass, painting, yet not disfiguring the serenity of the 
mind. It is then that life seems to weigh itself, and hosts 
of memories and imaginations, thrown into one scale, 
make the other kick the beam. You remember what 
you have felt, what you have dreamt ; yet you dwell on 
the shadowy side, and lost hopes and death (such as you 
have seen it) seem to cover all things with a funeral pall. 
The time that was, is, and will be, presses upon you, and, 
standing the centre of a moving circle, you ' slide giddily 
as the world reels.' * You look to Heaven, and would 
demand of the everlasting stars, that the thoughts and 
passions which are your life may be as ever-living as 
they. You would demand of the blue Empyrean that 
your mind might be as clear as it, and that the tears 
which gather in your eyes might be the shower that 
would drain from its profoundest depths the springs of 
weakness and sorrow. But — a thousand swift, consum- 
ing lights supply the place of the eternal ones of Heaven. 
The enthusiast suppresses her tears, crushes her opening 
thoughts, and — all is changed. Some word, some look, 

* These words are from the Cenci. — Ed. 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 197 

excites the lagging blood — laughter dances in the eyes 
— and the spirits rise proportionately high. 

1 The Queen is all for revels; her light heart, 
Unladen from the heaviness of state, 
Bestows itself upon delightfulness.' 

" Sometimes I awaken from my visionary monotony, 
and my thoughts flow, until, as it is exquisite pain to 
stop the flowing of the blood, so is it painful to check 
expression, and make the overflowing mind return to its 
usual channel. I feel a kind of tenderness to those who- 
ever they may be (even though strangers), who awaken 
this strain, and touch a chord so full of harmony and 
thrilling music." 

When this was written, Shelley was away, in company 
with Williams, on a visit to Spezzia, where they were 
seeking for a house. They were absent about four days, 
returning on the 11th of February. Under that date, 
Mrs. Shelley writes in her journal : — 

" What a mart this world is ! Feelings, sentiments, 
more invaluable than gold or precious stones, are the 
coin ; and what is bought ? Contempt, discontent, and 
disappointment, if, indeed, the mind be not loaded with 
drearier memories. 

" And what say the worldly to this ? Use Spartan 
coin ; pay away iron and lead alone ; and store up your 
precious metal. But, alas ! from nothing, nothing comes ; 
or, as all things seem to degenerate, give lead, and you 
will receive clay. The most contemptible of all lives is 
when you live in the world, and none of your passions or 
affections are called into action. I am convinced I could 



198 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

not live thus ; and as Sterne says that in solitude he 
would worship a tree, — so, in the world, I should attach 
myself to those who bore the semblance of those qualities 
which I admire. But it is not this that I want. Let me 
love the trees, the skies and the ocean, and that all-en- 
compassing Spirit of which I may soon become a part. 
Let me, in my fellow-creature, love that which is, and 
not fix. my affection on a fair form endued with imag- 
inary attributes. Where goodness, kindness, and talent 
are, let me love and admire them at their just rate, 
neither adding nor diminishing ; and, above all, let me 
fearlessly descend into the remotest caverns of my own 
mind, carry the torch of self-knowledge into its dimmest 
recesses — but too happy if I dislodge any evil spirit, 
or enshrine a new deity in some hitherto uninhabited 
nook." 

An amusing anecdote is related by Mrs. Shelley in a 
letter to Mrs. Gisborne, dated March 7th. " So," she 
exclaims, " H. is shocked that, for good neighborhood's 
sake, I visited the piano di sotto. Let him reassure him- 
self ; instead of a weekly, it was only a monthly, visit. 
In fact, after going three times, I stayed away. He 
preached against Atheism, and, they said, against Shel- 
ley. As he invited me himself to come, this appeared to 
me very impertinent ; so I wrote to him, to ask him 
whether he intended any personal allusion. He denied 
the charge most entirely. This affair, as you may guess, 
among the English at Pisa made a great noise. Gossip 
here is of course out of all bounds. Some people have 
given them something to talk about. I have seen little 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 199 

of it all ; but that which I have seen makes me long 
most eagerly for some sea-girt isle where, with Shelley, 
my babe, my books and horses, we might give the rest 
to the winds. This we shall not have. For the pres- 
ent, Shelley is entangled with Lord Byron, who is in a 
terrible fright lest he should desert him. We shall have 
boats, and go somewhere on the sea-coast, where, I dare 
say, we shall spend our time agreeably enough." 

An exciting, and even perilous, event occurred to 
Shelley about this time. Together with Lord Byron, 
Trelawny, Count Gamba the younger, a Captain Hay, 
and a Mr. Taaffe, he was riding home outside the gates 
of Pisa, on horseback, with the ladies following in a 
carriage. Suddenly "a mounted dragoon" — to quote 
the account given by Williams in his diary — " dashed 
through their party, and touched Taaffe's horse as they 
passed in an insolent and defying manner. Lord Byron 
put spurs to his horse, saying that he should give some 
account of such insolence. Shelley's horse, however, 
was the fleetest, and, coming up to the dragoon, he 
crossed and stopped him, till the party arrived ; but 
they had now reached the gate where a guard was 
stationed, and, finding himself so well supported, he 
drew his sword, and, after abusing them all as 'maladetti 
Inglesij began to cut and slash to the right and left, 
(and what signified it to him whether he had the blood 
of all the English here ?) saying that he arrested them 
all. ' Do that if you can,' said Lord Byron, and dashed 
through the guard with young Count Gamba, and 
reached home to bring arms for what he expected would 



200 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

turn out a serious scuffle. The dragoon, finding the 
rest of the party intended to force their way, made a 
desperate cut at Shelley, who took off his cap, and, 
warding the blow from the sharp part of the sabre, the 
hilt struck his head and knocked him off his horse. 
The fellow was repeating his cut at Shelley while down, 
when Captain Hay parried it with a cane he had in his 
hand ; but the sword cut it in two, and struck Captain 
Hay's face across the nose. A violent scene now took 
place, and the dragoon tried to get into the town and 
escape, when Lord B. arrived, and, half drawing a 
sword-stick to show that he was armed, the fellow put 
up his sword, and begged Lord Byron to do the same. 
It was now dark, and, after walking a few paces with 
Lord Byron, he put his horse into a gallop, and endeav- 
ored to get off; but, on passing Lord Byron's house, 
a servant had armed himself with a pitchfork, and 
speared him as he passed. He fell from his horse, and 
was carried to the hospital. 

" Trelawny had finished his story * when Lord Byron 
came in — the Countess fainting on his arm, Shelley 
sick from the blow, Lord Byron and the young Count 
foaming with rage, Mrs. Shelley looking philosophically 
upon this interesting scene, and Jane and I wondering 
what the devil was to come next. Taaffe, after having 
given his deposition at the police-office, returned to us 
with a long face, saying that the dragoon could not live 
out the night. All now again sallied forth to be the 

* The foregoing facts were related to Williams by Trelawny, who 
was the first to arrive at Shelley's house. — Ed. 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 201 

first to accuse, and, according to Italian policy, not wait 
to be accused. 

" 9 o'clock. — The report already in circulation about 
Pisa is ' that a party of peasants, having risen in insur- 
rection, made an attack upon the guard, headed by some 
Englishmen ; and that the guard maintained their ground 
manfully against an awful number of armed insurgents. 
One Englishman, whose name was Trelawny, left dead 
at the gate, and Lord Byron mortally wounded,' who is 
now telling me the tale, and Trelawny drinking brandy 
and water by his side. 

"10 o'clock. — How the attack ought to have been 
conducted is now agitating ; all appear to me to be 
wrong. 

"11 o'clock. — Disperse to our separate homes. 

" March 25th. — At seven this morning, an officer 
from the police called here, demanding my name, coun- 
try, profession, and requesting to have an account of my 
actions between the hours of six and eight yesterday 
evening. My servants told him I was asleep, but that 
they could inform him that I was engaged in a very 
bloody scene * between those hours. ' Then he must 
come to the police-office.' ' Ask him,' said I, ' if I am to 
bring the scene with me, or the whole play as far as I 
have written.' 

"12 o'clock. — Shelley comes. The wounded dragoon 
much worse. Hear that the soldiers are confined to 
their barracks, but they swear to be revenged on some 

* Williams here jocosely alludes to a play which he was writing at 
the time. — Ed. 

9* 



202 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

of us. A report is abroad that Taaffe is the assassin, 
and is now confined in Lord B.'s house, guarded by 
bull-dogs, &c, to avoid the police. This he himself 
overheard while walking down the Lung Arno. Shel- 
ley and Trelawny think it necessary to go around. A 
skaite-strap is therefore substituted for a pistol-belt, and 
my pistols so slung to Trelawny's waist. 

" 2 o'clock, — Sallied forth. Very much stared and 
pointed at. Called on Lord B. Heard that ex- 
treme unction had been administered to the dragoon, 
whose wound is considered mortal. A deposition is 
drawn up, and sent, with all the signatures concerned, to 
the police. The Grand Duke is expected to-night." 

Notwithstanding the severity of his wound, the dragoon 
recovered, and there is no account of the servant being 
banished, as some writers have stated. But Lord Byron 
shortly afterwards left Pisa, which he probably found it 
necessary to do, in consequence of the fray. 

Shelley exhibited great activity in this affair; and 
on another occasion, when a man at Lucca had been 
condemned to be burnt alive for sacrilege, he proposed 
to Lord Byron and Captain Medwin that they should 
at once arm, mount, and, setting off for the spot, en- 
deavor to rescue the man when brought out for execu- 
tion, and to carry him beyond the frontiers. Pending 
this last resource, however, they got up, together with 
other English residents, a petition to the Grand Duke ; 
and the sentence on the prisoner was commuted to hard 
labor at the galleys. 

In writing to Mr. Gisborne on the 10th of April, Shel- 



THE BAT OF SPEZZIA. 203 

ley makes some allusion to his study of Goethe's Faust 
He observes : — "I have been reading over and over 
again Faust, and always with sensations which no other 
composition excites. It deepens the gloom, and aug- 
ments the rapidity, of ideas, and would therefore seem to 
me an unfit study for any person who is a prey to the 
reproaches of memory and the delusions of an imagina- 
tion not to be restrained. And yet the pleasure of sym- 
pathizing with emotions known only to few, although 
they derive their sole charm from despair and the scorn 
of the narrow good we can attain in our present state, 
seems more than to ease the pain which belongs to them. 
Perhaps all discontent with the less (to use a Platonic 
sophism) supposes the sense of a just claim to the greater, 
and that we admirers of Faust are on the right road to 
Paradise." 

The Shelleys and Williamses left Pisa on the 26th of 
April for their new house, the Villa Magni, situated in a 
wild spot in the Bay of Spezzia, on the very border of 
the sea, and under the shadow of a steep hill which rose 
behind it. The proprietor of the estate was insane, and 
had at one time rooted up the olives on the hill side, 
and planted forest trees in their places. This, as Mrs. 
Shelley records in her notes to the poems, gave the plan- 
tation an unusually English appearance. Dark, heavy- 
foliaged walnut and ilex trees, however, overhung the 
white stone house behind ; while in front stretched the 
tideless bay, shut in by strange visions of jagged cliffs 
and multiform rocks, with the near castle of Lerici to 
the east, and Porto Venere far off to the west. The 



204 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

situation was so solitary that there was only one foot- 
path over the beach, which trailed its uncertain course 
along very rough ground towards Lerici. In the other 
direction, there was no path at all. 

The weather in this rocky nook was often character- 
ized by a savage grandeur. The sirocco would come 
raging along, bringing a wide dimness with it. Squalls 
were of frequent occurrence, churning up the foam from 
the blue waters of the bay ; the wind appeared seldom 
to lull in that exposed situation ; and the sea roared so 
incessantly, that Mrs. Shelley says it almost seemed as 
if they were on shipboard. But the sunshine often broke 
out over the precipitous shores, the dark foliage, and the 
wavering ocean, kindling all objects with the lustre and 
glory of the Italian atmosphere ; and the sea would be- 
come quiet for a time. 

Wild as were the elements and the spot, the natives 
were wilder still. Their manners were almost savage, 
with a mixture of the fierce revelry of Bacchanals. 
They frequently passed the night on the beach, singing 
rough, half frantic songs, and dancing fantastically among 
the waves that broke and tumbled on the shore. All 
the circumstances were of the most picturesque kind ; 
but some of the pains of isolation must also have been 
felt by the English strangers. " We could get," writes 
Mrs. Shelley, " no provisions nearer than Sarzana, at a 
distance of three miles and a half off, with the torrent 
of the Magra between ; and even there the supply was 
very deficient. Had we been wrecked on an island of 
the South Seas, we could scarcely have felt ourselves 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 205 

further from civilization and comfort ; but where the sun 
shines the latter becomes an unnecessary luxury, and 
we had enough society among ourselves. Yet I confess 
housekeeping became rather a toilsome task, especially 
as I was suffering in my health, and could not exert 
myself actively." 

Mr. Trelawny says that the villa looked more like a 
boat-house or a bathing-house than a place to live in. 
The terrace, or ground-floor, was unpaved, and had been 
used for the storing of boat gear, &c. ; and the single 
story over it was divided into a saloon and four small 
rooms, with one chimney for cooking. 

The fatal boat arrived on the 12th of May. She was 
brought round from Genoa by some English seamen, 
who, according to the entry in Williams's Journal, spoke 
highly of her performances. The writer adds : — " She 
does indeed excite my surprise and admiration. Shelley 
and I walked to Lerici, and made a stretch off the land 
to try her ; and I find she fetches whatever she looks at. 
In short, we have now a perfect plaything for the sum- 
mer." This last sentence now sounds like a ghastly 
dalliance with death. Mr. Trelawny did not think so 
highly of the boat as Williams ; and Captain Eoberts, 
the builder, had always protested against the model, but 
to no effect, for the self-love of Williams blinded him to 
the faults of his design. The sailors who navigated her 
from Genoa to Spezzia reported to Mr. Trelawny, ac- 
cording to that gentleman's account, "that they had been 
out in a rough night, that she was a ticklish boat to 
manage, but had sailed and worked well." They cau- 



206 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

tioned Shelley and Williams on the necessity for careful 
management, but seemed to think that, with two good 
seamen, all would be right. Shelley, however, only re- 
tained an English lad, about eighteen years of age. 

Shelley's delight was now perfect. He was surrounded 
by friends whom he esteemed ; he was expecting the 
arrival of another friend, for whom he entertained an 
affectionate regard ; and he was enabled to spend a large 
part of his time in his favorite element. The weather 
became fine, and the whole party often passed their 
evenings on the water. Shelley and Williams sailed 
frequently to Massa ; or, when the weather was unfavor- 
able, amused themselves by altering the rigging, or by 
building a light boat of canvas and reeds, in which they 
might be enabled to float in waters too shallow for the 
"Don Juan." Thus aided, they explored a good deal 
of the coast of Italy. Shelley always had writing ma- 
terials on board the larger vessel ; and much of the 
Triumph of Life was composed as the poet glided down 
the purple seas of southern Europe, within sight of noble 
objects of natural scenery, made trebly glorious by the 
crowding memories of a splendid history and the golden 
halo of poetical associations. Sometimes, at night, when 
the sea was calm and the moon free from clouds, Shelley 
would go alone in his little shallop to some of the caves 
that opened from the rocky precipices on to the bay, and 
would sit weaving his wild verses to the measured beat- 
ing of the waves as they crept up towards the shore. 
The stanza in which he was writing (the terza rima) has 
a strange affinity, in its endless and interlinked progres- 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 207 

sion, with the trooping of the sea waves towards the 
land ; and a fanciful ear may please itself by hearing in 
the lines of the Triumph of Life, as in an ocean shell, the 
distant murmuring of the Bay of Spezzia. 

The wildness of the objects by which he was constantly 
surrounded — the solemnity of the solitude in which he 
had voluntarily placed himself, broken occasionally by 
the uproar of the half civilized men and women from the 
adjacent districts — the abrupt transitions of his life from 
sea to land, and from land to sea — the frequent recur- 
rence of appalling storms, and the lofty, but weird, ab- 
stractions of the poem he was composing, — contributed 
to plunge the mind of Shelley into a state of morbid 
excitement, the result of which was a tendency to see 
visions. One night, loud cries were heard issuing from 
the saloon. The Williarnses rushed out of their room in 
alarm ; Mrs. Shelley also endeavored to reach the spot, 
but fainted at the door. Entering the saloon, the Wil- 
liarnses found Shelley staring horribly into the air, and 
evidently in a trance. They waked him, and he related 
that a figure wrapped in a mantle came to his bedside, 
and beckoned him. He must then have risen in his 
sleep, for he followed the imaginary figure into the 
saloon, when it lifted the hood of its mantle, ejaculated, 
" Siete sodis fatto ?"* and vanished. The dream is said 
to have been suggested by an incident occurring in a 
drama attributed to Calderon. 

Another vision appeared to Shelley on the evening of 

" # Are you satisfied? " 



208 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

May 6th, when he and Williams were walking together 
on the terrace. The story is thus recorded by the latter 
in his diary : — 

" Fine. Some heavy drops of rain fell without a 
cloud being visible. After tea, while walking with S. on 
the terrace, and observing the effect of moonshine on the 
waters, he complained of being unusually nervous, and, 
stopping short, he grasped me violently by the arm, and 
stared steadfastly on the white surf that broke upon the 
beach under our feet. Observing him sensibly affected, 
I demanded of him if he was in pain ; but he only an- 
swered by saying, ' There it is again ! there ! ' He recov- 
ered after some time, and declared that he saw, as plainly 
as he then saw me, a naked child [Allegra, who had 
recently died] rise from the sea and clasp its hands as 
if in joy, smiling at him. This was a trance that it 
required some reasoning and philosophy entirely to 
wake him from, so forcibly had the visions operated on 
his mind. Our conversation, which had been at first 
rather melancholy, led to this, and my confirming his 
sensations by confessing that I had felt the same, 
gave greater activity to his ever-wandering and lively 
imagination." 

Thus passed the first half of the year 1822. It was 
one of the happiest periods of Shelley's life ; but it did 
not produce much literary fruit. One of the poet's 
most perfect small productions, however, must be re- 
ferred to this date : — the address To a Lady with a 
Guitar, In that exquisite trifle, Shelley pictures himself 
as Ariel ; and, addressing the lady, he says : — 



THE BAY OF SPEZZIA. 209 

" Now, alas ! the poor sprite is 
Imprison' d, for some fault of his, 
In a body like a grave : . 
From you he only dares to crave, 
For his service and his sorrow, 
A smile to-day, a song to-morrow." 

He little knew how soon the spirit was to be emancipated 
from its " grave " by the liberator, Death! 

The very last verses written by Shelley took the form 
of a little poem welcoming Leigh Hunt to Italy. This 
has, unfortunately, been lost. 



210 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

shelley's death and obsequies. 

Leigh Hunt arrived at Genoa on the 14th of June, 
and was heartily welcomed by Shelley, in a letter which 
he wrote to him. But so desirous was the latter of see- 
ing his friend personally, that he determined to go in his 
boat with Williams to Leghorn, where Hunt had speedily 
proceeded, to arrange with Lord Byron the final prelim- 
inaries of the Liberal. Shelley at this time was in 
high spirits ; Mrs. Shelley, on the contrary, was exceed- 
ingly depressed (owing, no doubt, to ill-health), and was 
haunted by a profound presentiment of coming evil, which 
had saddened her during the whole time she had lived in 
the Bay of Spezzia. The weather was now intensely 
hot, though the breeze which sprang up from the sea at 
noon cooled the air for a while, and set the waters spark- 
ling. A great drought had prevailed for some time ; 
prayers for rain were put up in the churches, relics were 
paraded through the towns ; and the unusual character of 
the weather seemed to betoken that any change would 
be ushered in by a violent storm. Shelley, however, 
was not the man to be deterred by such portents from 
his contemplated journey; nor was his friend and com- 



shelley's death and obsequies. 211 

panion, Williams. They accordingly disregarded the 
warning which Mr. Trelawny had given them some 
months before, with respect to the difference between the 
waters of the land-locked bay and those of the open sea 
beyond. 

On the 1st of July, they left the Villa Magni, never 
to return. Mrs. Shelley was to have accompanied them, 
but her ill-health prevented her. They reached Leg- 
horn in safety, and Shelley proceeded with Leigh Hunt 
to Pisa, where the two friends were accommodated with 
a floor in Lord Byron's palace, the furnishing of which, 
however, was done by Shelley. Byron had by this time 
been persuaded by Moore and some of his other friends 
in London that the projected magazine, about which he 
had been very anxious at first, would be injurious to his 
fame and interests ; and Shelley now found him so 
desirous of making any possible retreat from his engage- 
ments, that, had he not feared he might damage his 
friend's interests, he would have quarrelled outright with 
the noble poet.* He was very much out of spirits when 
he left him ; and that was the last interview they ever 
had. 

Shelley appeared to Leigh Hunt to be far less hope- 
ful than in former days, though otherwise unchanged. 
The two spent a delightful afternoon together during the 
brief stay of Shelley at Pisa, visiting the objects of note, 
and more especially the cathedral. Here the noble 
music of the organ deeply affected Shelley, who warmly 

* See Trelawny' s Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and 
Byron, p. 109. 



212 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

assented to a remark of Leigh Hunt, that a divine re- 
ligion might be found out, if charity were really made 
the principle of it, instead of faith. 

He left for Leghorn on the night of the same day. 
His departure from that place seems to have been has- 
tened by a gloomy letter which he received from Mrs. 
Shelley, who was probably still trembling under that 
" shadow of coming misery " which she describes as mov- 
ing her to agony, and as making her scarcely able to let 
her husband go from her side on the expedition which 
ultimately caused his death. For himself, he disregarded 
these ghostly presentiments, and had recently remarked 
that the only warning he had found infallible was that, 
whenever he felt peculiarly joyous, he was certain that 
some disaster was about to ensue. 

On Monday, July 8th, Shelley and Williams set sail 
in the " Don Juan " for S'erici. Trelawny was to have 
gone with them in Byron's vessel, the " Bolivar," but 
was detained for want of some necessary legal permit. 
They left about three p. m., when the Genoese mate of 
the " Bolivar " observed to Mr. Trelawny that they 
would soon have too much breeze. Black, ragged clouds 
w r ere by this time coming up from the southwest ; and 
the mate, pointing to what he called " the smoke on the 
water," observed that " the devil was brewing mischief." 
The waves were speedily covered with a sea-fog, in 
which Shelley's boat was hidden from the view of Mr. 
Trelawny. It was intensely hot ; the atmosphere was 
heavy and moveless to an oppressive degree, and a pro- 
found silence spread far over the ocean. By half-past 



shelley's death and obsequies. 213 

six o'clock it was almost dark ; the sea looked solid and 
lead-colored ; an oily scum was on the surface ; the wind 
was beginning to wake, in short, panting gusts ; and big 
drops of rain struck the water, rebounding as they fell. 
" There was a commotion in the air," says Mr. Trelawny, 
who records these particulars, " made up of many threat- 
ening sounds, coming upon us from the sea." The ves- 
sels in the harbor were all in hurried movement, and the 
tempest soon came crashing and glaring, in the fury of 
thunder, wind, rain, and lightning, over the port and the 
open waters. The storm only lasted about twenty min- 
utes, and during its progress Captain Roberts watched 
Shelley's vessel with his glass from the top of the Leg- 
horn lighthouse. The yacht had made Via Reggio when 
the storm began. " When the cloud passed onward," 
writes Mrs. Shelley, " Roberts looked again, and saw 
every other vessel sailing on the ocean, except the little 
schooner, which had vanished." Mr. Trelawny thought 
for some time that his friends would return to port ; but 
he waited for them in vain. 

The night was somewhat tempestuous. At daybreak 
Mr. Trelawny inquired of the crews of the various 
boats which had returned to harbor if they had seen 
anything of the missing vessel. They said they had 
not ; though the Genoese mate of the " Bolivar " pointed 
out, on board a fishing-boat, an English-made oar, which 
he thought he recognized as belonging to the " Don 
Juan." The crew protested it was not so ; but it seems 
that in Italy the fact of rendering assistance to a drown- 
ing stranger entails a long and rigorous quarantine at the 



214 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

next port, if the circumstance should be known there. 
On the morning of the third day, Mr. Trelawny rode over 
to Pisa, and told his fears to Lord Byron and Leigh 
Hunt. The latter was literally tongue-tied with horror ; 
and the former was also greatly alarmed. Mr. Trelawny 
then despatched the " Bolivar " to cruise along the coast, 
sent a courier as far as Nice, and made the most minute 
investigations himself. 

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Shelley and Mrs. Williams 
remained in miserable suspense in their wild home on 
the shores of the Bay of Spezzia. " The sea, by its 
restless moaning," writes the former,* " seemed to desire 
to inform us of what we would not learn." " If ever 
Fate whispered of coming disaster," she remarks in her 
notes to the poems of 1822, " such inaudible, but not 
unfelt, prognostics hovered around us. The beauty of 
the place seemed unearthly in its excess ; the distance 
we were at from all signs of civilization — the sea at 
our feet, its murmurs or its roaring forever in our 
ears — all these things led the mind to brood over 
strange thoughts, and, lifting it from every-day life, 
caused it to be familiar with the unreal. A sort of spell 
surrounded us ; and each day, as the voyagers did 
not return, we grew restless and disquieted ; and yet, 
strange to say, we were not fearful of the most apparent 
danger." 

At length, however, came the dreadful inference that 
the voyagers had perished in the storm. It was nothing 
more than an inference at first, though a strong one. 
* Preface to the Posthumous Poems. 



shelley's death and obsequies. 215 

Mr. Trelawny was informed at Via Reggio that a punt, 
a water-keg, and some bottles, had been picked up on 
the beach. He recognized them as having belonged to 
Shelley's boat ; but for some time the two miserable 
women at the Villa Magni clung to the desperate hope 
that the " Don Juan " might have been driven towards 
Elba or Corsica, and that the three lives on board might 
thus have been saved. Many days more passed in hor- 
rible uncertainty ; and, on one of these, Mrs. Shelley, 
animated by the strength of her terrors, proceeded to 
Pisa, (though she had not yet recovered from her ill- 
ness,) and rushing into Lord Byron's room with a face 
. of marble, passionately demanded where her husband 
was. Of course his Lordship was unable to give her 
any information, and she refused to be calmed or com- 
forted. Byron afterwards informed Lady Blessington 
that he never saw anything in dramatic tragedy to 
equal the terror of Mrs. Shelley's appearance on that 
day. 

The worst ultimately revealed itself with a certainty 
which left no further room for even the faintest hope. 
Two bodies were found on the shore : one near Via 
Reggio; the other close to the tower of Migliarino, at 
the Bocca Lericcio. They lay about four miles apart. 
Mr. Trelawny went to see both, and recognized the 
first as the corpse of Shelley, and the second as that of 
Williams. Williams was nearly undressed, having evi- 
dently made an attempt to swim. He had on one of his 
boots, which Mr. Trelawny recognized by comparing it 
with another belonging to the same owner. Shelley had 



216 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

probably gone down at once, for he was unable to swim, 
and had always declared (according to Mr. Trelawny) 
that, in case of wreck, he would vanish instantly, and 
not imperil others in the endeavor to save him. His 
right hand was clasped in his breast, and he appears to 
have been reading Keats's last volume of poems at the 
time of the catastrophe ; as the book, doubled back, was 
found thrust away, seemingly in haste, into a side 
pocket. In another pocket was a volume of Sophocles. 
The copy of Keats was lent by Leigh Hunt, who told 
Shelley to keep it till he could give it to him again 
with his own hands. As the lender would receive it 
from no one else, it was burnt with the body. 

When the two corpses were discovered, fourteen 
days had elapsed since the loss of the yacht. A third 
week passed before the body of the young sailor, 
Charles Vivian, was found on the shore, four miles from 
the other two. It was a mere skeleton, and its identity 
could only be guessed at from the locality in which the 
waves had thrown it. 

Subsequently, the boat was discovered off Via Reggio. 
She had gone down in fifteen fathoms water, but does not 
appear to have capsized ; for various things were found 
in her exactly as they had been placed on starting. 
Captain Roberts took possession of the vessel, but failed 
in endeavoring to make her seaworthy. . " Her shat- 
tered planks now lie rotting," says Mrs. Shelley, writing 
in 1839, " on the shore of one of the Ionian islands on 
which she was wrecked." 

On a close examination, Captain Roberts found many 



shelley's death and obsequies. 217 

of the timbers on the starboard quarter broken ; the 
two masts had been carried away, the bowsprit broken 
off, and the gunwale stove in ; and the hull was half 
full of blue clay. The probability seems to be that 
the yacht was run down by a felucca during the 
squall. 

Having identified the bodies of Williams and Shelley, 
Mr. Trelawny proceeded to the Villa Magni, in order 
that he might communicate to the two widows the sad 
intelligence that they must no longer cling to hope. It 
will be seen in one of the ensuing letters, contained in 
the next chapter, with what depth of feeling he dis- 
charged this terrible office. 

According to Italian laws, everything cast by the sea 
on to the shore must be burned, to prevent the possible 
introduction of the plague. Through the instrumentality 
of Mr. Dawkins, our consul at Florence, Mr. Trelawny 
was allowed to superintend the cremation, and to convey 
the ashes, when all was over, to the widows. He ex- 
erted himself with indefatigable zeal, and at length got 
matters ready for the final ceremony. A body of sol- 
diers had been despatched to the Bocca Lericcio (where 
the corpse of Williams had been temporarily buried in 
the sand), to see that the quarantine regulations were 
not contravened. The remains lay near the gnarled root 
of a pine tree ; and, while the soldiers collected fuel 
from a stunted pine wood hard by, and from the wrecks 
scattered along the coast, the functionaries of the Health 
Office shovelled out the sand, and laid bare the corpse — 

now " a shapeless mass of bones and flesh," as Mr. Tre- 
10 



218 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

lawny states in his account. On seeing the black silk 
handkerchief which the dead man had worn round his 
neck, Lord Byron (who was present, together with Leigh 
Hunt) observed — " The entrails of a worm hold to- 
gether longer than the potter's clay of which man is 
made." The relics were then cast into the furnace, 
which had been constructed, under the direction of Mr. 
Trelawny, of iron bars and strong sheet-iron. " Don't 
repeat this with me," said Byron ; " let my carcass rot 
where it falls." Frankincense, salt, wine, and oil, were 
thrown on the pyre ; a light was set to the materials ; 
and, after a few hours' fierce burning, the remains were 
found to be reduced to dark-colored ashes and some 
fragments of the larger bones. The relics were then 
screwed down in a box and placed in Byron's car- 
riage. 

This took place on the loth of August. On the 
following day, the same ceremony was performed with 
regard to the corpse of Shelley, which lay near Yia 
Reggio, and which, like that of Williams, had been 
temporarily buried in the sand. Mr. Trelawny, Lord 
Byron, and Leigh Hunt, were again present, and a 
guard of soldiers, as on the former occasion, stood by. 
The spot was wild, lonely, and inexpressibly grand. 
In front, lay the broad, bright waters of the Mediter- 
ranean, with the islands of Elba, Capraji, and Gorgona, 
in view; the white marble peaks of the Apennines 
closed the prospect behind, cooling the intense glare of 
the mid-day sun with the semblance of snow; and all 
between stretched the sands (yellow against the blue of 



shelley's death and obsequies. 219 

the sea), and a wild, bare, uninhabited country, parched 
by the saline air, and exhibiting no other vegetation 
than a few stunted and bent tufts of underwood. A 
row of high, square watch-towers, stood along the coast ; 
and above, in the hot stillness, soared a solitary curlew, 
which occasionally circled close to the pile, uttering 
its shrill scream, and defying all attempts to drive it 
away. 

The body was placed entire in the furnace, and wine, 
frankincense, &c, as in the case of Williams, were cast 
on to the pyre. The flames, which were of a rich golden 
hue, broad and towering, glistened and quivered, and 
threw out, together with the sunlight, so intense a heat, 
that the atmosphere became tremulous and wavy. Leigh 
Hunt witnessed the ceremony from Lord Byron's car- 
riage, occasionally drawing back when he was too much 
overcome to allow his emotions to be seen ; while Byron 
himself, finding his fortitude unequal to the occasion, left 
before the conclusion of the rites. 

The ashes of Shelley were deposited in the Protestant 
burial-ground at Rome, by the side of his son William, 
and of his brother-poet Keats. An inscription in Latin, 
simply setting forth the facts, was written by Leigh Hunt, 
and Mr. Trelawny added a few lines from Shakspeare's 
Tempest (one of Shelley's favorite plays) : — 

" Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange.' ' 

The same gentleman also planted eight cypresses round 



220 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

the spot, of which seven were flourishing in 1844, and 
probably are still.* 

And so the sea and the earth closed over one who was 
great as a poet, and still greater as a philanthropist ; and 
of whom it may be said, that his wild, spiritual character, 
seems to have fitted him for being thus snatched from 
life under circumstances of mingled terror and beauty,, 
while his powers were yet in their spring freshness, and 
age had not come to render the ethereal body decrepit, 
or to wither the heart which could not be consumed by 
fire. 

* The facts, on which the foregoing description of the burning of 
the bodies is based, are derived from Captain Medwin's Conversations 
of Lord Byron ; Mr. Trelawny's Recollections of the Last Days of 
Shelley and Byron ; and Leigh Hunt's Autobiography. 



MARY SHELLEY. 221 



CHAPTER XIV. 



MARY SHELLEY. 



A widow at four-and-twenty years of age ; left in a 
foreign land, with no certain income, and with a child to 
support ; coldly regarded by her husband's family, and 
possessed of no influential friends in England ; — Mrs. 
Shelley now entered on a struggle, which she has de- 
scribed as " lonely " and " unsolaced," but which she 
encountered in the true spirit of heroism, and lived to 
see crowned with success, and rewarded by happier 
days. 

The first emotions of horror at the death of her hus- 
band gave place to grief of a calmer, but intenser, kind. 
It will be seen in the ensuing letters, and in the journal 
which follows them, how deep was the agony which the 
young widowed heart endured ; how abiding the sense 
of loss ; how omnipresent the recollection of him, whose 
genius now became associated with all sights and sounds 
of earth, sky, and ocean. Italy had been the chosen 
land of Shelley ; and his widow, though meeting every- 
where with some ghost of old companionship, some mem- 
ory of that which had vanished forever in this life, clung 
for a long while to the country which had witnessed her 



222 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

greatest joy and her wildest sorrow. She very speedily, 
however, left the Bay of Spezzia, and took up her resi- 
dence at Pisa. 

But she was not without comforters in her grief. 
Foremost among the letters she received from England 
must be placed one from her father, who, on the 9 th of 
August, 1822, writes: — 

" My poor girl ! What do you mean to do with yourself? 
You surely do not mean to stay in Italy ? How glad I should 
be to be near you, and to endeavor by new expedients each 
day to make up for your loss ! But you are the best judge. 
If Italy is a country to which in these few years you are natu- 
ralized, and if England is become dull and odious to you, then 
stay. 

" I should think, however, that now you have lost your clos- 
est friend, your mind would naturally turn homewards, and 
[to] your earliest friend. Is it not so ? Surely we might be 
a great support to each other, under the trials to which we are 
reserved. What signify a few outward adversities, if we find 
a friend at home ? 

"Above all, let me entreat you to keep up your courage. 
You have many duties to perform ; you must now be the 
father, as well as the mother ; and I trust you have energy of 
character enough to enable you to perform your duties honor- 
ably and well. 

" Ever and ever most affectionately yours, 

"W. Godwin." 



FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MISS CURRAN. 

" Pisa, July 26th, 1822. 
" My dear Miss Curran, 

" You will have received my letter concerning the pic- 
tures, and now I have another request to make. Your kind- 



MARY SHELLEY. 223 

ness to us when we were both so unhappy* — your great 
kindness — makes me do this without that feeling of unwill- 
ingness which I have in asking favors of any other person. 
Besides, you are unhappy, and therefore can better sympa- 
thize with and console the miserable. You would greatly 
oblige me, if you would get me from one of those shops in the 
Piazza di Spagna two mosaic stones, about as large as a half- 
crown piece. On one I wish an heart's-ease to be depicted ; 
they call these flowers in Italian Socera huora, or Viola far 
falla, Viola regolina, Viola renagola ; on the other (I think I 
have seen such a one), a view of the tomb of Cestius. I re- 
member, also, that in one of your rooms there was a view of 
this place, and the people of the house might part with it, or 
a modern artist at Rome might make one for me, which would 
give me great pleasure. The difficulty is to pay you for these 
things ; but as soon (if you have the extreme kindness to fulfil 
my requests) as I know what money you spend for me, I will 
take care it shall be remitted to you without delay. 

" Will you indeed, my dear Miss Curran, do as I ask you ? 
Alas ! these trifles (not the picture — that is no trifle) serve as 
a kind of vent for those sentiments of personal affection and 
attentions which are so cruelly crushed forever. In a little 
poem of his are these words : ' Pansies let my flowers be.' 
Pansies are heart's-ease ; and in another he says, that pansies 
mean memory. So I would make myself a locket to wear in 
eternal memory, with the representation of his flower, and 
with his hair ; such things must now do instead of words of 
love, and the dear habit of seeing him daily. Pity me, then, 
and indulge me. 

" In my last letter I was so selfish, that I did not ask after 
your welfare. Pray write to me. I must ever be grateful to 
you for your kindness to us in misfortune ; and how much 
more when, through your talents and your goodness, I shall 
possess the only likeness that is of my husband's earthly form. 

* From the loss of their son William, at Rome. — Ed. 



224: SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

" My little Percy is well — not so beautiful as William, 
though there is some resemblance. 

" Yours ever truly, 

"Mary W. Shelley." 



FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

" Pisa, August 14th, 1822. 
"My dear Miss Curran, 

" I have written two letters to you, requesting that favor 
now nearer my heart than any other earthly thing — the pic- 
ture of my Shelley. Perhaps you have been at Gensano, and 
that delays your reply ; perhaps you have altered your resi- 
dence, and have not received my letters. 

" I am well ; so is my boy. We leave Italy soon ; so I am 
particularly anxious to obtain this treasure, which I am sure 
you will give me as soon as possible. I have no other likeness 
of him ; and, in so utter desolation, how invaluable to me is 
your picture ! * Will you not send it ? Will you not answer 
me without delay ? Your former kindness bids me hope every- 
thing. 

« Yery sincerely yours, 

" M. W. Shelley." 

FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Pisa, September 10th, 1822. 
" And so here I am ! I continue to exist ; to see one day 
succeed the other ; to dread night, but more to dread morning, 
and hail another cheerless day. My boy, too, is, alas ! no con- 
solation. When I think how he loved him — the plans he had 
for his education — his sweet and childish voice strikes me to 
the heart. W r hy should he live in this world of pain and 
anguish ? And if he went I should go too, and we should all 
sleep in peace. 

* Of Shelley. — Ed. 



MARY SHELLEY. 225 

" At times I feel an energy within me to combat with my 
destiny — but again I sink. I have but one hope, for which 
I live — to render myself worthy to join him ; and such a feel- 
ing sustains me during moments of enthusiasm ; but darkness 
and misery soon overwhelm the mind, when all near objects 
bring agony alone with them. People used to call me lucky 
in my star ; you see now how true such a prophecy is ! 

" 1 was fortunate in having fearlessly placed my destiny in 
the hands of one who — a superior being among men, a bright 
planetary spirit enshrined in an earthly temple — raised me to 
the height of happiness. So far am I now happy, that I would 
not change my situation as his widow with that of the most 
prosperous woman in the world ; and surely the time will at 
length come when I shall be at peace, and my brain and heart 
be no longer alive with unutterable anguish. I can conceive 
but of one circumstance that could afford me the semblance 
of content — that is, the being permitted to live where I am 
now, in the same house, in the same state, occupied alone with 
my child, in collecting his manuscripts, writing his life, and 
thus to go easily to my grave. 

" But this must not be ! Even if circumstances did not 
compel me to return to England, I would not stay another 
summer in Italy with my child. I will at least do my best to 
render him well and happy ; and the idea that my circum- 
stances may at all injure him is the fiercest pang my mind 
endures. 

" I wrote you a long letter, containing a slight sketch of my 
sufferings. I sent it, directed to Peacock, at the India House, 
because accident led me to believe that you were no longer in 
London. I said in that, that on that day (Aug. 15) they had 
gone to perform the last offices for him ; however I erred in 
this, for on that day those of Edward * were alone fulfilled, 
and they returned on the 16th to celebrate Shelley's. I will 
say nothing of the ceremony, since Trelawny has written an 
account of it, to be printed in the forthcoming journal.f I 

* Captain Williams. — Ed. f The Liberal — Ep. 

10* 



226 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

will only say, that all except his heart (which was incon- 
sumable) was burnt, and that two days ago I went to Leghorn 
and beheld the small box that contained his earthly dress. 
Those smiles — that form. Great God ! no — he is not there ; 
he is with me, about me — life of my life, and soul of my soul ! 
If his divine spirit did not penetrate mine, I could not survive 
to weep thus. 

" I will mention the friends I have here, that you may form 
an idea of our situation. Mrs. Williams and I live together. 
We have one purse, and, joined in misery, we are for the 
present joined in life. 

" The poor girl withers like a lily. She lives for her chil- 
dren, but it is a living death. Lord Byron has been very kind. 
But the friend to whom we are eternally indebted is Trelawny. 
I have, of course, mentioned him to you as one who wishes to 
be considered eccentric, but who was noble and generous at 
bottom. I always thought so, even when no fact proved it ; 
and Shelley agreed with me, as he always did, or rather, I 
with him. We heard people speak against him on account of 
his vagaries ; we said to one another, i Still we like him ; we 
believe him to be good.' Once, even, when a whim of his led 
him to treat me with something like impertinence, I forgave 
him, and I have now been well rewarded. In my outline of 
events, you will see how unasked he returned with Jane and 
me from Leghorn to Lerici ; how he stayed with us miserable 
creatures twelve days there, endeavoring to keep up our 
spirits ; how he left us on Thursday, and, finding our misfor- 
tune confirmed, then without rest returned on Friday to us, 
and, again without rest, returned with us to Pisa on Saturday. 
These were no common services. Since that, he has gone 
through, by himself, all the annoyances of dancing attendance 
on consuls and governors, for permission to fulfil the last duties 
to those gone, and attending the ceremony himself. All the 
disagreeable part, and all the fatigue, fell on him. As Hunt 
said, ' He worked with the meanest, and felt with the best.' 
He is generous to a distressing degree ; but after all these 



MARY SHELLEY. 227 

benefits to us, what I most thank him for is this : — when on 
that night of agony — that Friday night — he returned to an- 
nounce that hope was dead for us ; when he had told me that, 
his earthly frame being found, his spirit was no longer to be 
my guide, protector and companion in this dark world, — he 
did not attempt to console me ; that would have been too 
cruelly useless ; but he launches forth into, as it were, an 
overflowing and eloquent praise of my divine Shelley, till I 
was almost happy that I was thus unhappy, to be fed by the 
praise of him, and to dwell on the eulogy that his loss thus 
drew from his friend. 

u God knows what will become of me ! My life is now very 
monotonous as to outward events ; yet how diversified by in- 
ternal feeling ! How often, in the intensity of grief, does one 
instant seem to fill and embrace the universe ! As to the rest 
— the mechanical spending of my time — of course I have a 
great deal to do, preparing for my journey. I make no visits, 
except one, once in about ten days, to Mrs. Mason. Tre- 
lawny resides chiefly at Leghorn, since he is captain of Lord 
Byron's vessel, the l Bolivar.' He comes to see us about once 
a week, and Lord Byron visits us about twice a week, accom- 
panied by the Guiccioli ; but seeing people is an annoyance 
which I am happy to be spared. Solitude is my only help 
and resource. Accustomed, even when he was with me, to 
spend much of my time alone, I can at those moments forget 
myself, until some idea, which I think I would communicate to 
him, occurs, and then the yawning and dark gulf again dis- 
plays itself, unshaded by the rainbows which the imagination 
had formed. Despair, energy, love, desponding and excessive 
affliction, are like clouds driven across my mind, one by one, 
until trees blot the scene, and weariness of spirit consigns me 
to temporary repose. 

" I shudder with horror when I look back upon what I have 
suffered ; and when I think of the wild and miserable thoughts 
that have possessed me, I say to myself: ' Is it true that I ever 
felt thus ? ' And then I weep in pity for myself; yet each 



228 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

day adds to the stock of sorrow, and death is the only end. I 
would study, and I hope I shall. I would write, and, when I 
am settled, I may. But were it not for the steady hope I en- 
tertain of joining him, what a mockery would 'be this world ! 
Without that hope, I could not study or write ; for fame and 
usefulness (except as far as regards my child) are nullities to 
me. Yet I shall be happy if anything I ever produce may 
exalt and soften sorrow, as the writings of the divinities of our 
race have mine. But how can I aspire to that ? 

" The world will surely one day feel what it has lost, when 
this bright child of song deserted her. Is not Adonais his own 
elegy? And there does he truly depict the universal woe 
which should overspread all good minds, since he has ceased 
to be their fellow-laborer in this worldly scene. How lovely 
does he paint death to be, and with what heartfelt sorrow does 
one repeat that line — 

' But I am chain' d to time, and cannot thence depart! ' 

How long do you think I shall live ? As long as my mother ? 
Then eleven long years must intervene. I am now on the eve 
of completing my five-and-twentieth year. How drearily 
young for one so lost as I ! How young in years for one who 
lives ages each day in sorrow ! Think you that those moments 
are counted in my life as in other people's ? Ah, no ! The 
day before the sea closed over mine own Shelley, he said to 
Marianne,* ' If I die to-morrow, I have lived to be older than 
my father. I am ninety years of age/ Thus also may I say. 
The eight years I passed with him were spun out beyond the 
usual length of a man's life ; and what I have suffered since 
will write years on my brow, and entrench them in my heart. 
Surely I am not long for this world. Most sure should I be 
were it not for my boy ; but God grant that I may live to 
make his early years happy ! 

" Well, adieu ! I have no events to write about, and can 
therefore only scrawl about my feelings. This letter, indeed, is 
* Mrs. Leish Hunt. — Ed. 



MARY SHELLEY. 229 

only the sequel of my last. In that I closed the history of all 
that can interest me. That letter I wish you to send my 
father ; the present one, it is best not. 

" I suppose I shall see you in England some of these days ; 
but I shall write to you again before I quit this place. Be as 
happy as you can, and hope for better things in the next 
world. By firm hope you may attain your wishes. Again 
adieu ! 

" Affectionately yours, 

" M. W. Shelley." 

FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

" Genoa, September 17th, 1822. 
" I am here alone in Genoa; quite, quite alone ! Jane has 
left me to proceed to England, and, except my sleeping child, 
I am alone. Since you do not communicate with my father, 
you will perhaps be surprised, after my last letter, that I do not 
come to England. I have written to him a long account of the 
arguments of all my friends to dissuade me from that miserable 
journey ; Jane will detail them to you ; and therefore I 
merely say now that, having no business there, I am deter- 
mined not to spend that money, which will support me nearly 
a year here, in a journey, the sole end of which appears to me 
the necessity I should be under, when arrived in London, of 
being a burden to my father. When my crowns are gone, if 
Sir T. refuses, I hope to be able to support myself by my 
writings and mine own Shelley's MSS. At least, during many 
long months, I shall have peace as to money affairs ; and one 
evil the less is much to one whose existence is suffering alone. 
Lord Byron has a house here, and will arrive soon ; I have 
taken a house for the Hunts and myself, outside one of the 
gates. It is large and neat, with a podere attached. We 
shall pay about eighty crowns between us ; so I hope that I 
shall find tranquillity from care this winter — though that may 
be the last of my life so free. Yet I do not hope it, though I 
say so ; — hope is a word that belongs not to my situation. 



230 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

He — my own beloved — the exalted and divine Shelley, has 
left me alone in this miserable world — this earth canopied 
by the eternal starry heaven, where he is — where — Oh, my 
God ! Yes — where I shall one day be ! 

" Jane quitted me this morning at four. After she left me, 
I again went to rest, and thought of Herghano, its halls, its 
cypresses, the perfume of its mountains, and the gayety of our 
life beneath their shadow. Then I dozed awhile, and in my 
dream saw dear Edward most visibly. He came, he said, to 
pass a few hours with us, but could not stay long. Then I 
woke, and the day began. I went out — took Hunt's house 
— but, as I walked, I felt that which is with me the sign of 
unutterable grief. I am not given to tears ; and, though my 
most miserable fate has often turned my eyes to fountains, yet 
often er I suffer agonies unassuaged by tears. But, during 
these last sufferings, I have felt an oppression at my heart 
I never felt before. It is not a palpitation, but a stringemento 
which is quite convulsive, and, did I not struggle greatly, 
would cause violent hysterics. Looking on the sea, or hearing- 
its roar — his dirge — it conies upon me ; but these are cor- 
poreal sufferings I can get over. That which is insurmountable 
is the constant feeling of despair that shadows me ; I seem to 
walk on a narrow prith with fathomless precipices all around 
me ; yet where can I fall ? I have already fallen, and all that 
comes of bad or good is a mere mockery. 

" Those about me have no idea of what I suffer ; none are 
sufficiently interested in me to observe that, though my lips 
smile, my eyes are blank, or to notice the desolate look that 1 
cast upwards towards the sky. Pardon, dear friend, this selfish- 
ness in writing thus. There are moments when the heart must 
sfogare, or be suffocated ; and such a moment is this. When 
quite alone, my babe sleeping, and dear Jane having just left 
me, it is with difficulty I prevent myself from flying from 
mental misery by bodily exertion, when to run into that vast 
grave (the sea), until I sink to rest, would be a pleasure to 
me ; and, instead of this, I write, and as I write I say, ' Oh 



MART SHELLEY. 231 

God ! have pity on me ! ' At least, I will have pity on you. 
Good night ! I will finish this when people are about me, and 
I am in a more cheerful mood. Good night ! I will go look at 
the stars ; they are eternal ; so is he — so am I. 

" You have not written to me since my misfortune. I un- 
derstand this ; you first waited for a letter from me, and that 
letter told you not to write. But answer this as soon as you 
receive it. Talk to me of yourself, and also of my English 
affairs. I am afraid that they will not go on very well in my 
absence ; but it would cost more to set them right than they 
are worth. I will, however, let you know what I think my 
friends ought to do, that when you talk to Peacock, he may 
learn what I wish. A claim should be made on the part of 
Shelley's executors for a maintenance for my child and my- 
self from Sir Timothy. Lord Byron is ready to do this or any 
other service for me that his office of executor demands from 
him. But I do not wish it to be done separately by him, and 
I wait to hear from England before I ask him to write to 
Whitton on the subject. Secondly, Oilier must be asked for 
all MSS., and some plan be reflected on for the best manner 
of re|Tublishing Shelley's works, as well as the writings he has 
left. 

" Who will allow money to Ian the and Charles ? * 

" As for you, my dear friends, I do not see what you can 
do for me, except to send me the originals or copies of Shel- 
ley's most interesting letters to you. I hope soon to get into 
my house, where writing, copying Shelley's MSS., walking, and 
being of some use in the education of Marianne's children, 
will be my occupations. Where is that letter in verse Shelley 
once wrote to you ? Let me have a copy of it. 

" Here is a long letter all about myself; but, though I can- 
not write, I like to hear of others. 

" Adieu, dear friends ! 

" Your sincerely attached, 

" Mary W. Shelley." 
* Shelley's children by his first wife. — Ed. 



232 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Albe?io, near Genoa, Nov. 22 d, 1822. 
"My dear Friend, 

" No one ever writes to me. Each day, one like the 
other, passes on, and, if I were where I would that I were, 
methinks I could not be more forgotten. I cannot write my- 
self, only to cast the shadow of my misery on others. 

" What I have endured is not to be alleviated by time ; for 
every new event and thought brings more clearly before me 
the fearful change. My ideas, wanting their support, fall; 
wanting their mate, they pine ; and nothing the earth contains 
can alleviate that. I see no one who did not know him ; and 
thus I try to patch up the links of a broken chain. I see, con- 
sequently, only the Hunts, Lord Byron, and Trelawny ; but, 
although Hunt knew him, he did not know him lately, so my 
freshest impressions are void for him. Lord Byron reminds 
me most of Shelley in a certain way, for I always saw them 
together ; and, when Lord Byron speaks, I wait for Shelley's 
voice in answer as the natural result. But this feeling must 
wear off ; and there is so little resemblance in their minds, that 
Lord Byron seldom speaks to me of him without unwittingly 
wounding and torturing me. With Trelawny I can talk, and 
do talk, for hours unreservedly of him ; but he is about to leave 
us and then I shall be thrown on my own mind,- to seek in its 
frightful depths for memories and eternal sorrow. 

" Pardon me, that I still write in this incoherent and unlet- 
ter like manner ; but I strive in vain to do better. My last 
letter is a proof of how I succeed ; for, when I curb myself to 
the relation of facts alone, or determine so to curb myself, I 
put off writing from day to day, endeavoring to catch the mo- 
ment when I shall feel less. But, the pen in my hand, the 
same spirit guides it, and one only thought swells the torrent 
of words that is poured out. Perhaps it would be better not 
to write at all ; but the weakness of human nature is to seek 



MART SHELLEY. 233 

for sympathy. I think but of one thing — my past life. While 
living, (do I live now ?) I loved to imagine futurity, and now 
I strive to do the same ; but I have nothing desirable to imag- 
ine, save death ; and my fancy flags, or sleeps, or wanders, 
when it endeavors to pursue other thoughts. I- imagine my 
child dead, and what I should do then. I feel that my whole 
life will be one misery ; it will be so — mark me ! 

" The Hunts are getting on well. Marianne is not better, 
but she is not worse. We often see Trelawny of an evening. 
Hunt likes him very much; and, for me, I feel so deep a 
gratitude to him that my heart is full but to name him. He 
supported us in our miseries — my poor Jane and me. But 
for him, menials would have performed the most sacred of 
offices ; and when I shake his hand, I feel to the depth of my 
soul that those hands collected those ashes. Yes ; for I saw 
them burned and scorched from the office. No fatigue — no 
sun, or nervous horrors — deterred him, as one or the other of 
these causes deterred others. He stood on the burning sand 
for many hours beside the pyre ; if he had been permitted by 
the soldiers, he would have placed him there in his arms. I 
never, never can forget this ; and now he talks of little else 
save my Shelley and Edward. 

" I wish all MSS. to be sent, without any exception, and as 
soon as possible. I have heard from Miss Curran. She is in 
Paris, and my Shelley's picture is at Rome. Nothing, there- 
fore, can be done with regard to that ; so pray let me have the 
MSS. without any delay — and let me entreat you, as you love 
me, to wait for nothing, but, the very moment the MSS. are 
obtained from Peacock, to send them to me. This is of more 
consequence to me than you think. 

" I wish you would enter into an unbreakable engagement to 
me, to write to me once a month. Your letter may be the 
work of several hours scattered over the month ; but put a 
long letter into the post for me the first of every month. I 
want some object — some motive, great or small. I should 
look forward to your letter as a certain thing, and it would be 



234 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

something to expect. Never mind what you write about ; let 
it be about his friends — some facts ; it would be a great solace 
to me ; indeed it would. 

" Well, good night. As usual, all are in bed except me — 
rny restless thoughts homeless in this world, if they do not steal 
to the bedside of my sleeping babe ; and there I tremble. 
But I think the new soul tries to amalgamate itself with its 
stubborn shrine, and, if it be too finely tempered, it cannot 
succeed. Something earthly, though good, seems to announce 
the decision of nature. So it is with Percy. The crisis was 
last summer — how I trembled for him then ! — and now it is 
not reason, but habit, that makes me shudder. 

" I hear that Peacock has given the Essay on Poetry to be 
published for the Liberal, and added that he had other MSS. 
Now, I am convinced there is nothing perfect, and I wish all 
to be sent to me without delay. 

"Adieu! 

"Affectionately yours, 

"Mary W. Shelley." 



FROM GODWIN TO MRS. SHELLEY. 

" Strand, Feb. Uth, 1823. 
" My dear Mary, 

" I have this moment received a copy of Sir Timothy 
Shelley's letter to Lord Byron, dated February 6th, and 
which therefore you will have seen long before this reaches 
you. You will easily imagine how anxious I am to hear from 
you, and to know the state of your feelings under this, which 
seems like the last blow of fate. 

" I need not of course attempt to assist your judgment upon 
the proposition of taking the child from you. I am sure your 
feelings would never allow you to entertain such a proposition. 

" I requested you to let Lord Byron's letter to Sir Timothy 



MARY SHELLEY. 235 

Shelley pass through my hands, and you did so ; but, to my 
great mortification, it reached me sealed with his Lordship's 
arms, so that I remain wholly ignorant of its contents. If 
you could send me a copy, I should then be much better ac- 
quainted with your present situation. 

" Your novel is now fully printed and ready for publication. 
I have taken great liberties with it, and I fear your amour 
propre will be proportionably shocked. I need not tell you 
that all the merit of the book is exclusively your own. Bea- 
trice is the jewel of the book ; not but that I greatly admire 
Euthanasia, and I think the characters of Pepi, Binda, and 
the witch, decisive efforts of original genius. I am promised 
a character of the work in the Morning Chronicle and the 
Herald, and was in hopes to have sent you the one or the 
other by this time. I also sent a copy of the book to the Ex- 
aminer, for the same purpose. 

" Tuesday, Feb. 18th. 

" Do not, I entreat you, be cast down about your worldly 
circumstances. You certainly contain within yourself the 
means of your subsistence. Your talents are truly extraordi- 
nary. Frankenstein is universally known, and, though it can 
never be a book for vulgar reading, is everywhere respected. 
It is the most wonderful work to have been written at twenty 
years of age * that I ever heard of. You are now five-and- 
twenty, and, most fortunately, you have pursued a course of 
reading, and cultivated your mind, in a manner the most ad- 
mirably adapted to make you a great and successful author. 
If you cannot be independent, who should be ? 

" Your talents, as far as I can at present discern, are turned 
for the writing of fictitious adventures. 

" If it shall ever happen to you to be placed in sudden and 
urgent want of a small sum, I entreat you to let me know 

* Frankenstein was written by Mrs. Shelley when she was only 
eighteen, but not published until she was twenty. — Ed. 



236 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

immediately. We must see what I can do. We must help 
one another. 

" Your affectionate father, 

"William Godwin." 



FROM MRS. SHELLEY TO MRS. GISBORNE. 

"Albaro, May 3d, 1823. 
"My dear Mrs. Gisborne, 

" Your letter was very pleasing to me, since it showed 
me that it was not want of affection that caused your silence. 
Utter solitude is delightful to me ; but in the midst of the 
waste, I am much comforted when I hear the quiet voice of 
friendship telling me that I am still loved by some one, and 
especially by those who knew my Shelley, and have been his 
companions. You say well that it is an almost insurmountable 
difficulty in expressing your thoughts that causes you to be 
silent ; for, though occupation or indolence may often prevent 
your exerting yourself, yet, when you do write, yours are the 
best letters I receive, especially as far as clearness and infor- 
mation goes. 

" I had a letter to-day from Trelawny at Rome, concerning 
the disposition of the earthly dress of my lost one. He is in 
the Protestant burying-ground at that place, which is beside, 
and not before, the tomb of Cestius. The old wall, with an 
ancient tower, bounds it on one side, and beneath this tower 
(a weed-grown and picturesque ruin) the excavation has been 
made. Trelawny has sent me a drawing of it, and he thus 
writes : — ' Placed apart, yet in the centre, and the most con- 
spicuous spot in the burying-ground, I have just planted six 
young cypresses and four laurels, in the front of the recess 
which you see in the drawing, and which is caused by the pro- 
jecting part of the old ruin. My own stone (Trelawny, you 
know, one of the best and most generous of natures, is eccen- 
tric in his way), a plain slab, till I can decide upon some fit- 



MARY SHELLEY. 237 

ting inscription, is placed on the left hand. I have likewise 
dug my grave, so that, when I die, there is only to lift up the 
coverlet, and roll rne into it. You may lie on the other side if 
you like. It is a lovely spot. The only inscription on Shel- 
ley's stone, besides the Cor cordium of Hunt, are three lines 
I have added from Shakspeare : — 

" Nothing of him that doth fade, 
But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange." 

This quotation, by its double meaning, alludes both to the 
manner of his death and his genius ; and I think the element 
on which his soul took wing, and the subtle essence of his 
being mingled, may still retain him in some other shape. The 
water may keep the dead, as the earth may, and fire and air. 
His passionate fondness may have arisen from some sweet 
sympathy in his nature ; thence the fascination which so for- 
cibly attracted him, without fear or caution, to trust an ele- 
ment which almost all others hold in superstitious dread, and 
venture as cautiously on as they would in a lair of lions/ 

" This quotation is pleasing to me also, because, a year ago, 
Trelawny came one afternoon in high spirits, with news con- 
cerning the building of the boat, saying ' Oh, we must all 
embark, all live aboard; we will all "suffer a sea-change."' 
And dearest Shelley was delighted with the quotation, saying 
that he would have it for the motto of his boat. 

" Captain Roberts (Jane will tell you who he is) is just 
come, from Rome. He confirms all that is said in this letter. 
Roberts has bought the hulk of that miserable boat — new 
rigged her even with higher masts than before. He has sailed 
with her at the rate of eight knots an hour, and on such occa- 
sions tried various experiments — hazardous ones — to discover 
how the catastrophe that closed the scene for poor Jane and 
myself happened. It is plain to every eye. She was run 
down from behind. On bringing her up from fifteen fathom, 
all was in her — boots, telescope, ballast — lying on each side 



238 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

of the boat without any appearance of shifting or confusion ; 
the topsails furled, topmast lowered ; the false stern (J. can 
explain) broken to pieces, and a great hole knocked in the 
stern timbers. When she was brought to Leghorn, every one 
went to see her, and the same exclamation was uttered by all : 
* She was run down ' — by that wretched fishing-boat which 
owned that it had seen them. 

" I have written myself into a state of agitation. If I con- 
tinued my letter, it would only be to pour out the bitterness 
of my heart. Oh, this spring is so beautiful ! The clear sky 
shines above the calm murderer ; the trees are all in leaf, and 
a soft air is among them ; the stars tell of other spheres where 
I pray to be ; for all this beauty, while at times it elevates me, 
yet in strange words tells me that he, the best and most beau- 
tiful, is gone. 

'Oh, follow, follow! 

J>k -?k -5k ^& -5k -5k 

^K ^ <fc ^r ^r syr 

And on each herb, from which. Heaven's dew had fallen, 
The like was stamp' d, as with a withering fire. 

* * * * * * 

And then, 
Low, sweet, faint sounds, like the farewell of ghosts, 
Were heard: " Oh, follow, follow, follow me!'"* 

" I will finish my letter Monday. God bless you ! Good 
night ! I often see him — both he and Edward — in dreams ; 
perhaps I shall to-night. At least, I shall not be in sleep, as I 
now. The clinging present is so odious. 

" May etJi. 

"I finish my letter. You will soon see me in England. It 
is not my own desire, or for my own advantage, that I go, but 
for my boy's ; so I am fixed, and enjoy these blue skies, and 
the sight of vines and olive groves, for the last time. I hope, 
indeed, to return, if only for repose. The fear of the advanc- 

Lines from Prometheus Unbound. — Ed. 



MARY SHELLEY. 239 

ing season will make me begin my journey as quickly as pos- 
sible. I should in any case have feared an Italian summer for 
my delicate child. The climate of England will agree with 
him. Adieu, my dear friend ! 

" Affectionately yours, 

" Mary W. Shelley." 

FROM GODWIN TO MRS. SHELLEY. 

"No. 195 Strand, May 6t7i, 1823. 

" It certainly is, my dear Mary, with great pleasure that I 
anticipate that we shall once again meet. It is a long, long 
time now since you have spent one night under my roof. You 
are grown a woman, have been a wife, a mother, a widow. 
You have realized talents which I but faintly and doubtfully 
anticipated. I am grown an old man, and want a child of 
my own to smile on and console me. 

" When you first set your foot in London, of course I ex- 
pect that it will be in this house ; but the house is smaller, one 
floor less, than the house in Skinner-street ; it will do well 
enough for you to make shift with for a few days ; but it would 
not do for a permanent residence. But I hope we shall at 
least have you near us — within a call — how different from 
your being on the shores of the Mediterranean ! 

" Your novel has sold five hundred copies — half the im- 
pression. I ought to have written to you sooner. Your letter 
reached me on the 18th ult. ; but I have been unusually sur- 
rounded with perplexities. 

" Your affectionate father, 

"Wm. Godwin." 

Mrs. Shelley and her child arrived in England early 
in the autumn of 1823. After an absence in Italy of 
nearly six years, the climate of this country struck her 
with a painful sense of gloom and oppression ; and she 



240 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

records in her journal her ardent desire to return as soon 
as possible to the South. She mentions that one word 
of the Italian language, heard by chance, brings tears 
into her eyes, though she describes Italy as the murderess 
of those she loved, and of all her happiness. 

For some time after her arrival in London, Mrs. 
Shelley resided with her father, who was now living in 
the Strand; but she subsequently removed to Kentish 
Town, and then to Harrow, in order that she might be 
near her son, who was being educated at the school there. 
The expenses incidental to tuition tried her severely; 
besides which, she contributed towards the support of her 
aged father ; but, with a noble energy of character and 
entire self-devotion, she worked incessantly with her 
pen, and met her liabilities by the fruits of her literary 
industry. 

The novels which she published after the death of her 
husband were — Valperga, in 1823 ; Tlie Last Man, 
1824; Perkin Warbeck, 1830; Lodore, 1835; and Folk- 
ner, 1837. She wrote all the Italian and Spanish lives 
in Lardner's Encyclopedia, with the exception of Tasso 
and Galileo ; and she greatly regretted that the former 
did not fall to her share. She also wrote two volumes, 
under the title of Rambles in Germany and Italy, giving 
an account of her travels with her son, his tutor, and 
some companion, in later years ; contributed several 
short productions to the annuals, and edited (1839-40) 
Shelley's poetical works, his letters, and his prose writ- 
ings. 

During the earlier days of her return to England, 



MARY SHELLEY. 241 

she had to fight hard against a sense of despondency, 
which at times almost overcame her. On the 14th of 
May, 1824, she writes in her journal : — 

" Amidst all the depressing circumstances that weigh 
upon me, none sinks deeper than the failure of my intel- 
lectual powers. Nothing I write pleases me. Whether 
I am just in this, or whether it is the want of Shelley's 
encouragement, I can hardly tell ; but it seems to me as 
if the lovely and sublime objects of Nature had been my 
best inspirers, and, wanting these, I am lost. Although 
so utterly miserable at Genoa, yet what reveries were 
mine as I looked on the aspect of the ravine — the sunny 
deep and its boats — the promontories clothed in purple 
light — the starry heavens — the fire-flies — the uprising 
of Spring! Then I could think; and my imagination 
could invent and combine ; and self became absorbed in 
the grandeur of the universe I created. Now, my mind 
is a blank — a gulf filled with formless mist. ' The 
Last Man!'* Yes, I may well describe that solitary 
being's feelings ; I feel myself as the last relic of a be- 
loved race, my companions extinct before me. 

" Mine own Shelley ! what a horror you had of re- 
turning to this miserable country ! To be here without 
you, is to be doubly exiled ; to be away from Italy, is to 
lose you twice ! " 

On the following day, she records the death of Byron, 
news of which had just reached England. The recol- 
lection of his association with her husband, and of his 
kindness to herself after her great calamity, makes her 

* She was at that time writing the novel so called. — Ed. 
11 



242 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

exclaim : — " God grant I may die young ! A new race 
is springing about me. At the age of twenty-six, I am 
in the condition of an aged person. All my old friends 
are gone ; I have no wish to form new ; I cling to the 
few remaining ; but they slide away, and my heart fails 
when I think by how few ties I hold to the world." 

Yet the sight of natural beauty could always soothe 
her into temporary forgetfulness of grief, and at the same 
time rouse her intellect into the activity of genius. On 
the 8th June, 1824, she writes : — 

" What a divine night it is ! A calm twilight per- 
vades the clear sky ; the lamp-like moon is hung out 
in heaven, and the bright west retains the dye of sunset. 
If such weather would continue, I should again write ; 
the lamp of thought is again illuminated in my heart, 
and the fire descends from heaven that kindles it. I feel 
my powers again ; and this is of itself happiness. The 
eclipse of winter is passing from my mind ; I shall again 
feel the enthusiastic glow of composition — again, as I 
pour forth my soul upon paper, feel the winged ideas 
arise, and enjoy the delight of expressing them. Study 
and occupation will be a pleasure, and not a task ; and 
this I shall owe to the sight and companionship of trees 
and meadows, flowers and sunshine." 

Though in some measure secluded from the world, 
Mrs. Shelley was remembered by her friends. Charles 
Lamb, in the course of the year 1827, addressed to 
her one of his grotesquely humorous and amusing 
letters : — 



MARY SHELLEY. 243 

"Enfield, July 26th, 1827. 
" Dear Mrs. Shelley, 

" At the risk of throwing away some fine thoughts, I 
must write to say how pleased we were with your very kind 
remembering of us (who have unkindly run away from all our 
friends) before you go. Perhaps you are gone, and then my 
tropes are wasted. If any piece of better fortune has lighted 
upon you than you expected, but less than we wish you, we 
are rejoiced. We are here trying to like solitude, but have 
scarce enough to justify the experiment. We get some, how- 
ever. The six days are our Sabbath; the seventh — why, 
Cockneys will come for a little fresh air, and so 

"But by your month, or October at furthest, we hope to 
see Islington ; I, like a giant refreshed with the leaving off of 
wine ; and Mary pining for Mr. Moxon's books and Mr. 
Moxon's society. Then we shall meet. 

" I am busy with a farce in two acts, the incidents tragi- 
comic. I can do the dialogue, commey for ; * but the damn'd 
plot — I believe I must omit it altogether. The scenes come 
after one another like geese, not marshalling like cranes, or a 
Hyde-park review. The story is as simple as G. D.,f and the 
language plain as his spouse. The characters are three 
women to one man ; which is one more than laid hold on him 
in the Evangely. I think that prophecy squinted towards my 
drama. 

"I want some Howard Paine to sketch a skeleton of art- 
fully succeeding scenes through a whole play ; as the courses 
are arranged in a cookery-book. I to find wit, passion, senti- 
ment, character, and the like trifles. To lay in the dead 
colors; Pd Titianesque 'em up. To mark the channel in a 

=* French — comme il faut. 

t Lamb here refers to an excellent, but single-minded, scholarly 
friend of his, now dead. Mr. George Dyer, known as the author of 
many erudite works. He was one of Lamb's stock subjects for jok- 
ing, and is introdnced into the Elia Essays. — Ed. 



244 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

cheek (smooth or furrowed, yours or mine) ; and, where tears 
should course, Pd draw the waters down. To say where a 
joke should come in, or a pun be left out. To bring my per- 
sonse on and off like a Beau Nash; and Pd Frankenstein 
them there. To bring three together on the stage at once ; 
they are so shy with me, that I can get no more than two, 
and there they stand, till it is the time, without being the season, 
to withdraw them. 

"lam teaching Emma Latin, to qualify her for a superior 
governesship, which we see no prospect of her getting. 'Tis 
like feeding a child with chopt hay from a spoon. Sisyphus, 
his labors were as nothing to it. 

" Actives and passives jostle in her nonsense, till a deponent 
enters, like Chaos, more to embroil the fray. Her prepositions 
are suppositions ; her conjunctions copulative have no connec- 
tion in them; her concords disagree; her interjections are 
purely English ' Ah ! ' and ' Oh ! ' with a yawn and a gape in 
the same tongue ; and she herself is a lazy, blockheadly supine. 
As I say to her, ass in prcesenti rarely makes a wise man in 
futuro. 

" But I dare say it was so with you when you began 
Latin — and a good while after. 

" Good bye ! Mary's love. 

" Yours truly, 

" C. Lamb." 

It was in 1833 that Mrs. Shelley first went to reside 
at Harrow. She complains of living very solitarily 
there, though she was cheered by seeing her son's 
progress in his studies. All this while she continued 
to correspond with her old friend, Mrs. Gisborne ; and 
in a letter to her, dated "Harrow, June 11th, 1835," 
she gossips about her own estimate of her literary 
powers. She states that when she saw Kean on her 



MARY SHELLEY. 245 

return to England, she greatly desired to write for the 
stage, but that her father earnestly dissuaded her. 
Nevertheless, she felt persuaded that she could have 
written a good tragedy ; but she adds that she could not 
do so now, as her feelings are blighted, her ambition 
gone, and her mind wrecked by loneliness. 

" You speak of women's intellect,'* she continues : " we 
can scarcely do more than judge by ourselves. I know 
that, however clever I may be, there is in me a want of 
eagle-winged resolution, that appertains to my intellect 
as w T ell as my moral character, and renders me what I 
am — one of broken purposes, failing thoughts, and a 
heart all wounds. My mother had more energy of char- 
acter ; still, she had not sufficient fire of imagination. In 
short, my belief is — whether there be sex in souls or 
not — that the sex of our material mechanism makes us 
quite different creatures ; better, though weaker, but 
wanting in the higher grades of intellect. I am almost 
sorry to send you this letter — it is so querulous and sad ; 
yet, if I write with any effusion, the truth will creep out, 
and my life since you went has been so strained by sor- 
rows and disappointments, I have no hope. In a few 
years, when I get over my present feelings, and live 
wholly in Percy, I shall be happier." 

William Godwin died in 1836; an event which, 
though it could not have been much longer postponed, as 
the philosopher had reached the age of eighty, was a 
great grief to Mrs. Shelley, who was tenderly attached 
to her father. 

In the following year, her son went to Cambridge, and 



246 SHELLEY MEMORIALS. 

in 1844, on the death of Sir Timothy Shelley, he suc- 
ceeded to the title. 

But, at the same moment that happier and brighter 
prospects seemed to open to her view, and when she had 
made arrangements for writing the life of her husband, 
symptoms of illness, of a threatening character, showed 
themselves. From time to time they appeared and sub- 
sided ; but gradually her old energy went, and she died 
in London on the 21st of February, 1851, in the fifty- 
fourth year of her age. 

The following verses on her death appeared in the 
Leader : — 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. SHELLEY. 

Another, yet another, snatch' d away, 

By Death's grasp, from among us ! Yet one more 

Of Heaven's anointed band, — a child of genius, — 

A peeress, girt about with magic powers, — 

That could at will evoke from her wild thought 

Spirits unearthly, monster-shaped, to strike 

Terror within us, and strange wonderment, — 

Renewing, realizing, once again, 

With daring fancy, on her thrilling page, 

The fabled story of Prometheus old. 

gifted sister, lovely in thyself, 
And claiming from the world the meed of love ! 
How fondly art thou link'd within our breasts 
With his dear memory whose name thou bar'st; 
How doubly lov'd because entwined with him ! 

Mourn her not, Earth! her spirit, disenthrall' d, 
No more shall droop in lonely widowhood ; 
Its happy flight is wing'd to join again 



MARY SHELLEY. 247 

In endless fellowship, 'mid brighter spheres, 
The husband of her heart, — the bright-ey'd child 
Whom Fate tore from us in his early bloom, 
The Poet of the Soul ! whose Orphic song, 
Steep'd to its depths within the light divine 
Of Nature's loveliness, and fraught all o'er 
With struggling yearnings for the weal of man, 
Descended on each sorrow-canker'dlife 
Like heaven's dews upon the sunburnt plain. 

Mourn her not, Earth ! she is at rest with him, 
The mighty minstrel of the impassion' d lay, — 
The Poet-martyr of a creed too bright, 
Whose lofty hymnings were so oft attuned 
Unto the music of her own pure name, 
The theme and inspiration of his lyre. 

Happy departed ones, a brief farewell ! 
Till friend clasps friend upon the silent shore. 



E. W. 



Edinburgh, February 2&th, 1851. 



EXTEACTS 

FBOM 

MRS. SHELLEY'S PRIVATE JOURNAL. 



Some quotations from this journal have been made in 
the preceding pages ; but further extracts are here ap- 
pended, for the sake of the interest they possess. 

" October 2d, 1822. — On the 8th of July I finished 
my journal. This is a curious coincidence. The date 
still remains — the fatal 8th — a monument to show that 
all ended then. And I begin again ? Oh, never I But 
several motives induce me, when the day has gone down, 
and all is silent around me, steeped in sleep, to pen, as 
occasion wills, my reflections and feelings. First, I have 
no friend. For eight years I communicated, with un- 
limited freedom, with one whose genius far transcending 
mine, awakened and guided my thoughts. I conversed 
with him ; rectified my errors of judgment ; obtained 
new lights from him ; and my mind was satisfied. Now 
I am alone — oh, how alone. The stars may behold my 
tears, and the winds drink my sighs ; but my thoughts 



EXTRACTS FROM MRS. SHELLEY'S JOURNAL. 249 

are a sealed treasure, which I can confide to none. But 
can I express all I feel ? Can I give words to thoughts 
and feelings that as a tempest, hurry me along ? Is this 
the sand that the ever-flowing sea of thought would im- 
press indelibly ? Alas ! I am alone. No eye answers 
mine ; my voice can with none assume its natural modu- 
lation. What a change ! Oh, my beloved Shelley ! 
how often during those happy days — happy, though 
checkered — I thought how superiorly gifted I had been 
in being united to one to whom I could unveil myself, 
and who could understand me ! Well, then, I am now 
reduced to these white pages, which I am to blot with 
dark imagery. As I write, let me think what he would 
have said if, speaking thus to him, he could have an- 
swered me. Yes, my own heart, I would fain know what 
you think of my desolate state ; what you think I ought 
to do, what to think. I guess you would answer thus : — 
1 Seek to know your own heart, and, learning what it best 
loves, try to enjoy that-' Well, I cast my eyes around, 
and looking forward to the bounded prospect in view, I 
ask myself what pleases me there. My child; — so 
many feelings arise when I think of him, that I turn 
aside to think no more. Those I most loved are gone 
forever ; those who held the second rank are absent ; and 
among those near me as yet, I trust to the disinterested 
kindness of one alone. Beneath all this, my imagination 
ever flags. Literary labors, the improvement of my mind, 
and the enlargement of my ideas, are the only occupa- 
tions that elevate me from my lethargy ; all events seem 
to lead me to that one point, and the courses of destiny 
11* 



250 EXTRACTS FROM 

having dragged me to that single resting-place, have left 
me. Father, mother, friend, husband, children — all 
made, as it were, the team that conducted me here ; and 
now all except you, my poor boy (and you are necessary 
to the continuance of my life), all are gone, and I am 
left to fulfil my task. So be it ! 

" October 5lh. — Well, they are come ; * and it is all 
as I said. I awoke as from sleep, and thought how I 
had vegetated these last days; for feeling leaves little 
trace on the memory if it be, like mine, unvaried. I 
had felt for and with myself alone, and I awake now to 
take a part in life. As far as others are concerned, my 
sensations have been most painful. I must work hard 
amidst the vexations that I perceive are preparing for 
me — to preserve my peace and tranquillity of mind. I 
must preserve some, if I am to live ; for since I bear 
at the bottom of my heart a fathomless well of bitter 
waters, the workings of which my philosophy is ever at 
work to repress, what will be my fate if the petty vexa- 
tions of life are added to this sense of eternal and infinite 
misery ? 

" Oh, my child ! what is your fate to be ? You alone 
reach me ; you are the only chain that links me to time ; 
but for you I should be free. And yet I cannot be des- 
tined to live long! Well, I shall commence my task, 
commemorate the virtues of the only creature worth 
loving or living for, and then, may be, I may join him. 

* Leigh Hunt and his family. — Ed. 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 251 

Moonshine may be united to her planet, and wander no 
more, a sad reflection of all she loved on earth. 

" October 7th. — I have received my desk to-day, and 
have been reading my letters to mine own Shelley dur- 
ing his absences at Marlow. What a scene to recur to ! 
My William, Clara, Allegra, are all talked of. They 
lived then, they breathed this air, and their voices struck 
on my sense ; their feet trod the earth beside me, and 
their hands were warm with blood and life when clasped 
in mine. Where are they all ? This is too great an 
agony to be written about. I may express my despair, 
but my thoughts can find no words. 

tJc 3jr v|c >t* ^K 

"I would endeavor to consider myself a faint con- 
tinuation of his being, and, as far as possible, the revela- 
tion to the earth of what he was. Yet, to become this, 
I must change much, and above all I must acquire that 
knowledge, and drink at those fountains of wisdom and 
virtue, from which he quenched his thirst. Hitherto I 
have done nothing; yet I have not been discontented 
with myself. I speak of the period of my residence 
here. For, although unoccupied by those studies which 
I have marked out for myself, my mind has been so 
active, that its activity, and not its indolence, has made 
me neglectful. But now the society of others causes 
this perpetual working of my ideas somewhat to pause ; 
and I must take advantage of this to turn my mind 
towards its immediate duties, and to determine with 
firmness to commence the life I have planned. You will 



252 EXTRACTS FROM 

be with me in all my studies, dearest love ! Your voice 
will no longer applaud me, but in spirit you will visit 
and encourage me ; I know you will. What were I, if 
I did not believe that you still exist ? It is not with you 
as with another. I believe that we all live hereafter ; 
but you, my only one, were a spirit caged, an elemental 
being, enshrined in a frail image, now shattered. Do 
they not all with one voice assert the same ? Trelawny, 
Hunt, and many others ; and so at last you quitted this 
painful prison, and you are free, my Shelley — while I, 
your poor chosen one, am left to live as I may. 

" What a strange life mine has been ! Love, youth, 
fear, and fearlessness led me early from the regular 
routine of life, and I united myself to this being, who 
not one of us, though like to us, was pursued by num- 
berless miseries and annoyances, in all which I shared. 
And then I was the mother of beautiful children ; but 
these stayed not by me. Still he was there ; and though, 
in truth, after my William's death, this world seemed 
only a quicksand, sinking beneath my feet, yet beside 
me was this bank of refuge — so tempest-worn and frail, 
that methought its very weakness was strength — and 
since Nature had written destruction on its brow, so the 
Power that rules human affairs had determined, in spite 
of Nature, that it should endure. But that is gone. 
His voice can no longer be heard ; the earth no longer 
receives the shadow of his form ; annihilation has come 
over the earthly appearance of the most gentle creature 
that ever yet breathed this air ; and I am still here — 
still thinking, existing, all but hoping. Well, I will 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 253 

close my book ; to-morrow I must begin this new life of 
mine. 

" October 19th. — How painful all change becomes to 
one who, entirely and despotically engrossed by their 
own feelings, leads as it were an internal life, quite 
different from the outward and apparent one. Whilst 
my life continues its monotonous course within sterile 
banks, an undercurrent disturbs the smooth face of the 
waters, distorts all objects reflected in it, and the mind 
is no longer a mirror in which outward events may 
reflect themselves but becomes itself the painter and 
creator. If this perpetual activity has power to vary 
with endless change the every-day occurrences of a most 
monotonous life, it appears to be animated with the 
spirit of tempest and hurricane when any real occur- 
rence diversifies the scene. Thus, to-night, a few bars 
of a known air seemed to be as a wind to rouse from 
its depths every deep-seated emotion of my mind. I 
would have given worlds to have sat, my eyes closed, 
and listened to them for years. The restraint I was 
under caused these feelings to vary with rapidity; but 
the words of the conversation, uninteresting as they 
might be, seemed all to convey two senses to me, and, 
touching a chord within me, to form a music of which 
the speaker was little aware. I do not think that any 
person's voice has the same power of awakening melan- 
choly in me as Albe's.* I have been accustomed, when 
hearing it, to listen and to speak little ; another voice, 
* Lord Byron. — Ed. 



254 EXTRACTS FROM 

not mine, ever replied — a voice whose strings are 
broken. When Albe ceases to speak, I expect to hear 
that other voice, and, when I hear another instead, it 
jars strangely with every association. I have seen so 
little of Albe since our residence in Switzerland, and, 
having seen him there every day, his voice — a peculiar 
one — is engraved on my memory with other sounds and 
objects from which it can never disunite itself. I have 
heard Hunt in company and conversation with many, 
when my own one was not there. Trelawny, perhaps, 
is associated in my mind with Edward more than with 
Shelley. Even our older friends, Peacock and Hogg, 
might talk together, or with others, and their voices 
would suggest no change to me. But, since incapacity 
and timidity always prevented my mingling in the nightly 
conversations of Diodati, they were, as it were, entirely 
tete-a-tete between my Shelley and Albe ; and thus, as I 
have said, when Albe speaks and Shelley does not an- 
swer, it is as thunder without rain — the form of the sun 
without heat or light — as any familiar object might be 
shorn of its best attributes ; and I listen with an unspeak- 
able melancholy that yet is not all pain. 

" The above explains that which would otherwise be 
an enigma, why Albe, by his mere presence and voice, 
has the power of exciting such deep and shifting emo- 
tions within me. For my feelings have no analogy either 
with my opinion of him, or the subject of his conversa- 
tion. With another I might talk, and not for the moment 
think of Shelley — at least not think of him with the 
same vividness as if I were alone ; but, when in company 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 255 

with Albe, I can never cease for a second to have Shel- 
ley in my heart and brain, with a clearness that mocks 
reality — interfering, even, by its force, with the functions 
of life — until, if tears do not relieve me, the hysterical 
feeling, analogous to that which the murmur of the sea 
gives me, presses painfully upon me. 

" Well, for the first time for about a month, I have 
been in company with Albe for two hours, and, coming 
home, I write this, so necessary is it for me to express 
in words the force of my feelings. Shelley, beloved ! I 
look at the stars and at all nature, and it speaks to me 
of you in the clearest accents. Why cannot you answer 
me, my own one ? Is the instrument so utterly de- 
stroyed ? I would endure ages of pain to hear one 
tone of your voice strike on my ear. 

" November 10th, — I have made my first probation in 
writing, and it has done me much good, and I get more 
calm ; the stream begins to take to its new channel inas- 
much as to make me fear change. But people must 
know little of me who think that, abstractedly, I am 
content with my present mode of life. Activity of 
spirit is my sphere. But we cannot be active of mind 
without an object ; and I have none. I am allowed to 
have some talent — that is sufficient, methinks, to cause 
my irreparable misery ; for, if one has genius, what a 
delight it is to associate with a superior. Mine own 
Shelley ! the sun knows of none to be likened to you — 
brave, wise, gentle, noble-hearted, full of learning, toler- 
ance, and love. Love ! what a word for me to write ! 



256 EXTRACTS FROM 

Yet, my miserable heart, permit me yet to love — to see 
him in beauty, to feel him in beauty, to be interpene- 
trated by the sense of his excellence ; and thus to love, 
singly, eternally, ardently, and not fruitlessly ; for I am 
still his — still the chosen one of that blessed spirit — 
still vowed to him forever and ever ! 

"November Wih. — It is better to grieve than not to 
grieve. Grief at least tells me that I was not always 
what I am now. I was once selected for happiness ; let 
the memory of that abide by me. You pass by an old 
ruined house in a desolate lane, and heed it not. But, 
if you hear that that house is haunted by a wild and 
beautiful spirit, it acquires an interest and beauty of 
its own. 

" I shall be glad to be more alone again ; one ought 
to see no one, or many ; and, confined to one society, I 
shall lose all energy except that which I possess from 
my own resources ; and I must be alone for these to be 
put in activity. 

" A cold heart ! Have I a cold heart ? God knows ! 
But none need envy the icy region this heart encircles ; 
and at least the tears are hot which the emotions of this 
cold heart forces me to shed. A cold heart ! Yes, it 
would be cold enough if all were as I wished it — cold, 
or burning in that flame for whose sake I forgive this, 
and would forgive every other imputation — that flame 
in which your heart, beloved, lay unconsumed. My 
heart is very full to-night ! 

" I shall write his life, and thus occupy myself in the 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 257 

only manner from which I can derive consolation. That 
will be a task that may convey some balm. What 
though I weep ? All is better than inaction and — not 
forgetfulness — that never is — but an inactivity of re- 
membrance. 

" And you, my own boy ! I am about to begin a 
task which, if you live, will be an invaluable treasure 
to you in after times. I must collect my materials, and 
then, in the commemoration of the divine virtues of 
your father, I shall fulfil the only act of pleasure there 
remains for me, and be ready to follow you, if you 
leave me, my task being fulfilled. I have lived ; 
rapture, exultation, content, — all the varied changes 
of enjoyment, — have been mine. It is all gone ; but 
still, the airy paintings of what it has gone through 
float by, and distance shall not dim them. If I were 
alone, I had already begun what I have determined to 
do ; but I must have patience, and for those events my 
memory is brass, my thoughts a never tired engraver. 
France — Poverty — A few days of solitude, and some 
uneasiness — A tranquil residence in a beautiful spot — 
Switzerland — Bath — Marlow — Milan — The Baths of 
Lucerne — Este — Venice — Rome — Naples — Rome 
and misery — Leghorn — Florence — Pisa — Solitude 
— The Williamses — The Baths — Pisa : these are the 
heads of chapters, and each containing a tale romantic 
beyond romance. 

I no longer enjoy, but I love ! Death cannot deprive 
me of that living spark which feeds on all given it, and 
which is now triumphant in sorrow. I love, and shall 



258 EXTRACTS FROM 

enjoy happiness again : I do not doubt that, — but 
when ? 

" December 31st. — So, this year has come to an end ! 
Shelley, beloved ! the year has a new name from any 
thou knewest. When spring arrives, leaves you never 
saw will shadow the ground, and flowers you never be- 
held will star it ; the grass will be of another growth, 
and the birds sing a new song ; the aged earth dates 
with a new number. 

" I trust in a hereafter — I have ever done so. I 
know that that shall be mine — even with thee, glori- 
ous spirit ! who surely lookest on, pitiest, and lovest thy 
Mary. 

" I love thee, my only one ; I love nature ; and I 
trust that I love all that is good in my fellow-creatures. 
But how changed I am ! Last year, having you, I 
sought for the affection of others, and loved them even 
when unjust and cold ; but now my heart is truly iced. 
If they treat me well, I am grateful. Yes, when that is, 
I call thee to witness in how warm a gush my blood 
flows to my heart, and tears to my eyes. But I am a 
lonely, unloved thing, serious and absorbed. None care 
to read my sorrow. 

" Sometimes I thought that fortune had relented to- 
wards us — that your health would have improved, and 
that fame and joy would have been yours ; for, when 
well, you extracted from nature alone an endless de- 
light. The various threads of our existence seemed to 
be drawing to one point, and there to assume a cheerful 
hue. 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 259 

"Again I think that your gentle spirit was too much 
wounded by the sharpnesses of this world ; that your 
disease was incurable ; and that, in a happy time, you 
became the partaker of cloudless day, ceaseless hours, 
and infinite love. 

" Thy name is added to the list which makes the earth 
bold in her age, and proud of what has been. Time, 
with unwearied but slow feet, guides her to the goal that 
thou hast reached ; and I, her unhappy child, am ad- 
vanced still nearer the hour when my earthly dress shall 
repose near thine, beneath the tomb of Cestius. 

"February 2d, 1823. — On the 21st of January, those 
rites were fulfilled. Shelley ! my own beloved ! You 
rest beneath the blue sky of Rome ; in that, at least, I 
am satisfied. 

" What matters it that they cannot find the grave of 
my William ? That spot is sanctified by the presence of 
his pure earthly vesture, and that is sufficient — at least, 
it must be. I am too truly miserable to dwell on what, 
at another time, might have made me unhappy. He is 
beneath the tomb of Cestius. I see the spot. 

" February 3d. — A storm has come across me — a 
slight circumstance has disturbed the deceitful calm of 
which I boasted. I thought I heard my Shelley call me 
— not my Shelley in Heaven, — but my Shelley, my 
companion in my daily tasks. I was reading ; I heard 
a voice say, ' Mary ! ' 'It is Shelley,' I thought ; the 
revulsion was of agony. Never more 



260 EXTRACTS FROM 

"But I have better hopes and other feelings. Your 
earthly shrine is shattered, but your spirit ever hovers 
over me, or awaits me, when I shall be worthy to join it. 
To that spirit, which, when imprisoned here, yet showed 
by its exalted nature its superior derivation * 

" February 2Uh. — Evils throng around me, my be- 
loved, and I have indeed lost all in losing thee. Were 
it not for my child, this would rather be a soothing re- 
flection, and, if starvation were my fate, I should fulfil 
that fate without a sigh. But our child demands all my 
care, now that you have left us. I must be all to him : 
the father, death has deprived him of; the relations, the 
bad world permits him not to have. What is yet in 
store for me ? Am I to close the eyes of our boy, and 
then join you ? 

" The last weeks have been spent in quiet. Study 
could not give repose to, but somewhat regulated, my 
thoughts. I said : ' I lead an innocent life, and it may 
become a useful one. I have talent, I will improve that 
talent ; and if, while meditating on the wisdom of ages, 
and storing my mind with all that has been recorded of 
it, any new light bursts upon me, or any discovery occurs 
that may be useful to my fellows, then the balm of utility 
may be added to innocence.' 

" What is it that moves up and down in my soul, and 
makes me feel as if my intellect could master all but my 
fate ? I fear it is only youthful ardor — the yet un- 

* This sentence, like that at the end of the preceding paragraph, 
appears to have been left incomplete. — Ed. 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 261 

tamed spirit, which, wholly withdrawn from the hopes, 
and almost from the affections, of life, indulges itself in 
the only walk free to it, and, mental exertion being all 
my thought, except regret, would make me place my 
hopes in that. I am, indeed, become a recluse in thought 
and act ; and my mind, turned Heavenward, would, but 
for my only tie, lose all commune with what is around 
me. If I be proud, yet it is with humility that I am 
so. I am not vain. My heart shakes with its sup- 
pressed emotions, and I flag beneath the thoughts that 
possess me. 

" Each day, as I have taken my solitary walk, I have 
felt myself exalted with the idea of occupation, improve- 
ment, knowledge, and peace. Looking back to my past 
life as a delicious dream, I steeled myself, as well as I 
could, against such severe regrets as should overthrow 
my calmness. Once or twice, pausing in my walk, I 
have exclaimed, in despair — ' Is it even so ? ' Yet, for 
the most part resigned, I was occupied by reflection — 
on those ideas you, my beloved, planted in my mind — 
and meditated on our nature, our source, and our desti- 
nation. To-day, melancholy would invade me, and I 
thought the peace I enjoyed was transient. Then that 
letter came to place its seal on my prognostications.* 
Yet it was not the refusal, or the insult heaped upon me, 
that stung me to tears. It was their bitter words about our 

* Mrs. Shelley here alludes to a letter from Sir Timothy to Lord 
Byron, (who had written to him on the subject,) in which the baronet 
undertook to support his infant grandson, if the mother would part 
with him. — Ed. 



262 EXTRACTS FROM 

boy. Why, I live only to keep him from their hands. 
How dared they dream that I held him not far more 
precious than all, save the hope of again seeing you, my 
lost one. But for his smiles, where should I now be ? 

" Stars, that shine unclouded, ye cannot tell me what 
will be ! Yet can I tell you a part. I may have mis- 
givings, weaknesses, and momentary lapses into unworthy 
despondency ; but — save in devotion towards my boy 
— fortune has emptied her quiver, and to all her future 
shafts I oppose courage, hopelessness of aught on this 
side, with a firm trust in what is beyond the grave. 

u Visit me in my dreams to-night, my beloved Shel- 
ley ! kind, living, excellent as thou wert ! and the event 
of this day shall be forgotten. 

"March \§ih. — As I have until now recurred to this 
book, to discharge into it the overflowings of a mind too 
full of the bitterest waters of life, so will I to-night, that 
I am calm, put down some of my milder reveries ; that, 
when I turn it once, I may not only find a record of the 
most painful thoughts that ever filled a human heart even 
to distraction. 

" I am beginning seriously to educate myself; and in 
another place I have marked the scope of this somewhat 
tardy education, intellectually considered. In a moral 
point of view, this education is of some years' standing, 
and it only now takes the form of seeking its food in 
books. I have long accustomed myself to the study of 
my own heart, and have sought and found in its recesses 
that which cannot embody itself in words — hardly in 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 263 

feelings. I have found strength in the conception of its 
faculties — much native force in the understanding of 
them — and what appears to me not a contemptible pen- 
etration in the subtle divisions of good and evil. But I 
have found less strength of self-support, of resistance to 
what is vulgarly called temptation ; yet I think, also, that 
I have found true humility, (for surely no one can be 
less presumptuous than I,) an ardent love for the immu- 
table laws of right, much native goodness of emotion, 
and purity of thought. 

"Enough, if every day I gain a profounder knowl- 
edge of my defects, and a more certain method of turn- 
ing them to a good direction. 

" Study has become to me more necessary than the 
air I breathe. In the questioning and searching turn it 
gives to my thoughts, I find some relief to wild reverie ; 
in the self-satisfaction I feel in commanding myself, I 
find present solace ; in the hope that thence arises, that 
I may become more worthy of my Shelley, I find a 
consolation that even makes me less wretched in my 
most wretched moments. 

'''March 30th. — I have now finished part of the 
Odyssey. I mark this. I cannot write. Day after day 
I suffer the most tremendous agitation. I cannot write, 
or read, or think. Whether it be the anxiety for letters 
that shakes a frame not so strong as hitherto — whether 
it be my annoyances here — whether it be my regrets, 
my sorrow, and despair, or all these — I know not ; but 
I am a wreck. 



264 EXTRACTS FROM 

" May 31 st, — The lanes are filled with fire-flies ; they 
dart between the trunks of the trees, and people the 
land with earth-stars. I walked among them to-night, 
and descended towards the sea. I passed by the ruined 
church, and stood on the platform that overlooks the 
beach. The black rocks were stretched out among the 
blue waters, which dashed with no impetuous motion 
against them. The dark boats, with their white sails, 
glided gently over its surface, and the star-enlightened 
promontories closed in the bay ; below, amid the crags, 
I heard the monotonous, but harmonious, voices of the 
fishermen. 

u How beautiful these shores, and this sea ! Such is 
the scene — such the waves within which my beloved 
vanished from mortality ! 

" The time is drawing near when I must quit this 
country. It is true that, in the situation I now am, Italy 
is but the corpse of the enchantress that she was. Be- 
sides, if I had stayed here, the state of things would 
have been different. The idea of our child's advantage 
alone enables me to keep fixed in my resolution to return 
to England. It is best for him — and I go. 

" Four years ago, we lost our darling William ; four 
years ago, in excessive agony, I called for death to free 
me from all I felt that I should suffer here. I continue 
to live, and thou art gone. I leave Italy, and the few 
that still remain to me. That I regret less ; for our 
intercourse is [so] much checkered with all of dross 
that this earth so delights to blend with kindness and 
sympathy, that I long for solitude, with the exercise of 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 265 

such affections as still remain to me. Away, I shall be 
conscious that these friends love me, and none can then 
gainsay the pure attachment which chiefly clings to them, 
because they knew and loved you — because I knew 
them when with you — and I cannot think of them with- 
out feeling your spirit beside me. 

" I cannot grieve for you, beloved Shelley ! I grieve 
for thy friends — for the world — for thy child — most 
for myself, enthroned in thy love, growing wiser and 
better beneath thy gentle influence, taught by you the 
highest philosophy — your pupil, friend, lover, wife, 
mother of your children! The glory of the dream is 
gone. I am a cloud from which the light of sunset has 
passed. Give me patience in the present struggle. 
Meum cordium cor ! Good night ! 

1 1 would give 
All that I am to be as thou now art ; 
But I am chain' d to time, and cannot thence depart.' * 
****** 

" October 21st, 1838. — I have been so often abused 
by pretended friends for my lukewarmness in ' the good 
cause,' that, though I disdain to answer them, I shall 
put down here a few thoughts on this subject. I am 
much of a self-examiner. Vanity is not my fault, I 
think ; if it is, it is uncomfortable vanity, for I have none 
that teaches me to be satisfied with myself; far other- 
wise, — and if I use the word disdain, it is that I think 
my qualities (such as they are) not appreciated, from 
unworthy causes. 

* Adonais. — Ed. 
12 



266 EXTRACTS FROM 

" In the first place, with regard to ' the good cause I — - 
the cause of the advancement of freedom and knowl- 
edge, of the rights of women, &c. — I am not a person 
of opinions. I have said elsewhere that human beings 
differ greatly in this. Some have a passion for reform- 
ing the world ; others do not cling to particular opinions. 
That my parents and Shelley were of the former class, 
makes me respect it. I respect such when joined to 
real disinterestedness, toleration, and a clear understand- 
ing. My accusers, after such as these, appear to me 
mere drivellers. For myself, I earnestly desire the good 
and enlightenment of my fellow-creatures, and see all, 
in the present course, tending to the same, and rejoice ; 
but I am not for violent extremes, which only bring on 
an injurious reaction. I have never written a word in 
disfavor of liberalism ; that I have not supported it 
openly in writing, arises from the following causes, as 
far as I know : — 

" That I have not argumentative powers ; I see things 
pretty clearly, but cannot demonstrate them. Besides, 
I feel the counter arguments too strongly. I do not feel 
that I could say aught to support the cause efficiently ; 
besides that, on some topics (especially with regard to 
my own sex), I am far from making up my mind. I 
believe we are sent here to educate ourselves, and that 
self-denial, and disappointment, and self-control, are a 
part of our education ; that it is not by taking away all 
restraining law that our improvement is to be achieved ; 
and, though many things need great amendment, I can 
by no means go so far as my friends would have me. 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 267 

When I feel that I can say what will benefit my fellow- 
creatures, I will speak ; not before. 

" Then I recoil from the vulgar abuse of the inimical 
press ; I do more than recoil — proud and sensitive, I 
act on the defensive — an inglorious position. 

" To hang back, as I do, brings a penalty. I was 
nursed, and fed with a love of glory. To be something 
great and good was the precept given me by my father ; 
Shelley reiterated it. Alone and poor, I could only be 
something by joining a party ; and there was much in 
me — the woman's love of looking up and being guided, 
and being willing to do anything if any one supported 
and brought me forward, which would have made me a 
good partisan. But Shelley died, and I was alone. My 
father, from age and domestic circumstances, could not 
' me /aire valoir.' My total friendlessness, my horror of 
pushing, and inability to put myself forward unless led, 
cherished, and supported, — all this has sunk me in a 
state of loneliness no other human being ever before, I 
believe, endured — except Robinson Crusoe. How many 
tears and spasms of anguish this solitude has cost me, 
lies buried in my memory! 

" If I had raved and ranted about what I did not 
understand ; had I adopted a set of opinions, and propa- 
gated them with enthusiasm ; had I been careless of 
attack, and eager for notoriety : then the party to which 
I belonged had gathered round me, and I had not been 
alone. 

" It has been the fashion with these same friends to 
accuse me of worldliness. There, indeed, in my own 



268 EXTRACTS FROM 

heart and conscience, I take a high ground. I may dis- 
trust my own judgment too much — be too indolent and 
too timid ; but in conduct I am above merited blame. 

" I like society ; I believe all persons who have any 
talent (who are in good health) do. The soil that gives 
forth nothing, may lie ever fallow ; but that which pro- 
duces — however humble its product — needs cultivation, 
change of harvest, refreshing dews, and ripening sun. 
Books do much ; but the living intercourse is the vital 
heat. Debarred from that, how have I pined and died ! 

" My early friends chose the position of enemies. 
When I first discovered that a trusted friend had acted 
falsely by me, I was nearly destroyed. My health was 
shaken. I remember thinking, with a burst of agonizing 
tears, that I should prefer a bed of torture to the unut- 
terable anguish a friend's falsehood engendered. There 
is no resentment ; but the world can never be to me what 
it was before. Trust, and confidence, and the heart's 
sincere devotion, are gone. 

" I sought at that time to make acquaintances — to 
divert my mind from this anguish. I got entangled in 
various ways through my ready sympathy and too eager 
heart ; but I never crouched to society — never sought it 
unworthily. If I have never written to vindicate the 
Rights of Women, I have ever befriended women when 
oppressed. At every risk, I have befriended and sup- 
ported victims to the social system ; but I make no boast, 
for in truth it is simple justice I perform ; and so I am 
still reviled for being worldly. 

" God grant a happier and a better day is near ! Percy 



mrs. shelley's private journal. 269 

— my all in all — will, I trust, by his excellent under- 
standing, his clear, bright, sincere spirit and affectionate 
heart, repay me for sad long years of desolation. His 
career may lead me into the thick of life, or only gild a 
quiet home. I am content with either, and, as I grow 
older, I grow more fearless for myself — I become firmer 
in my opinions. The experienced, the suffering, the 
thoughtful, may at last speak unrebuked. If it be the 
will of God that I live, I may ally my name yet to ' the 
good cause' — though I do not expect to please my 
accusers. 

" Thus have I put down my thoughts. I may have 
deceived myself; I may be in the wrong ; I try to exam- 
ine myself; and such as I have written appears to me 
the exact truth. 

" Enough of this ! The great work of life goes on. 
Death draws near. To be better after death than in life, 
is one's hope and endeavor — to be so through self- 
schooling. If I write the above, it is that those who love 
me may hereafter know that I am not all to blame, nor 
merit the heavy accusations cast on me for not putting 
myself forward. I cannot do that ; it is against my na- 
ture. As well cast me from a precipice, and rail at me 
for not flying." 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 



BY SHELLEY. 



NOW FIRST PRINTED. 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 



The Being who has influenced in the most memorable 
manner the opinions and the fortunes of the human 
species is Jesus Christ. At this day his name is con- 
nected with the devotional feelings of two hundred mil- 
lions of the race of man. The institutions of the most 
civilized portion of the globe derive their authority from 
the sanction of his doctrines ; he is the hero, the God, of 
our popular religion. His extraordinary genius, the 
wide and rapid effect of his unexampled doctrines, his 
invincible gentleness and benignity, the devoted love 
borne to him by his adherents, suggested a persuasion 
to them that he was something divine. The super- 
natural events which the historians of this wonderful 
man subsequently asserted to have been connected with 
every gradation of his career, established the opinion. 

His death is said to have been accompanied by an 
accumulation of tremendous prodigies. Utter darkness 
fell upon the earth, blotting the noonday sun ; dead 
bodies, arising from their graves, walked through the 

12* 



274 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

public streets, and an earthquake shook the astonished 
city, rending the rocks of the surrounding mountains. 
The philosopher may attribute the application of these 
events to the death of a reformer, or the events them- 
selves to a visitation of that universal Pan who 

****** 

The thoughts which the word " God " suggests to the 
human mind are susceptible of as many variations as 
human minds themselves. The Stoic, the Platonist, 
and the Epicurean, the Polytheist, the Dualist, and the 
Trinitarian, differ infinitely in their conceptions of its 
meaning. They agree only in considering it the most 
awful and most venerable of names, as a common term 
devised to express all of mystery, or majesty, or power, 
which the invisible world contains. And not only has 
every sect distinct conceptions of the application of this 
name, but scarcely two individuals of the same sect, 
who exercise in any degree the freedom of their judg- 
ment, or yield themselves with any candor of feeling 
to the influences of the visible world, find perfect coin- 
cidence of opinion to exist between them. It is [inter- 
esting] to inquire in what acceptation Jesus Christ em- 
ployed this term. 

We may conceive his mind to have been predisposed 
on this subject to adopt the opinions of his countrymen. 
Every human being is indebted for a multitude of his 
sentiments to the religion of his early years. Jesus 
Christ probably [studied] the historians of his country 
with the ardor of a spirit seeking after truth. They 
were undoubtedly the companions of his childish years, 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 275 

the food and nutriment and materials of his youthful 
meditations. The sublime dramatic poem entitled Job 
had familiarized his imagination with the boldest imagery 
afforded by the human mind and the material world. 

Ecclesiastes had diffused a seriousness and solemnity 
over the frame of his spirit, glowing with youthful hope, 
and made audible to his listening heart 

" The still, sad music of humanity, 
Not harsh or grating, but of ample power 
To chasten and subdue.' * 

He had contemplated this name as having been profanely 
perverted to the sanctioning of the most enormous and 
abominable crimes. We can distinctly trace, in the tissue 
of his doctrines the persuasion that God is some uni- 
versal Being, differing from man and the mind of man. 
According to Jesus Christ, God is neither the Jupiter, 
who sends rain upon the earth ; nor the Venus, through 
whom all living things are produced ; nor the Yulcan, 
who presides over the terrestrial element of fire ; nor the 
Vesta, that preserves the light which is enshrined in the 
sun and moon and stars. He is neither the Proteus nor 
the Pan of the material world. But the word God, 
according to the acceptation of Jesus Christ, unites all 
the attributes which these denominations contain, and 
is the [interpoint] and over-ruling Spirit of all the 
energy and wisdom included within the circle of exist- 
ing things. It is important to observe that the author of 
the Christian system had a conception widely differing 
from the gross imaginations of the vulgar relative to the 



276 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

ruling Power of the universe. He everywhere repre- 
sents this Power as something mysteriously and inimit- 
ably pervading the frame of things. Nor do his doctrines 
practically assume any proposition which they theoreti- 
cally deny. They do not represent God as a limitless 
and inconceivable mystery; affirming, at the same 
time, his existence as a Being subject to passion and 

capable 

***** 

"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see 
God." Blessed are those who have preserved internal 
sanctity of soul ; who are conscious of no secret deceit ; 
who are the same in act as they are in desire ; who con- 
ceal no thought, no tendencies of thought, from their own 
conscience ; who are faithful and sincere witnesses, before 
the tribunal of their own judgments, of all that passes 
within their mind. Such as these shall see God. What ! 
after death, shall their awakened eyes behold the King of 
Heaven ? Shall they stand in awe before the golden 
throne on which He sits, and gaze upon the venerable 
countenance of the paternal Monarch ? Is this the re- 
ward of the virtuous and the pure ? These are the idle 
dreams of the visionary or the pernicious representations 
of impostors, w r ho have fabricated from the very mate- 
rials of wisdom a cloak for their own dwarfish or imbecile 
conceptions. 

Jesus Christ has said no more than the most excellent 
philosophers have felt and expressed — that virtue is its 
own reward. It is true that such an expression as he 
has used was prompted by the energy of genius, and was 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 277 

the overflowing enthusiasm of a poet ; but it is not the 
less literally true [because] clearly repugnant to the mis- 
taken conceptions of the multitude. God, it has been 
asserted, was contemplated by Jesus Christ, as every poet 
and every philosopher must have contemplated that mys- 
terious principle. He considered that venerable word to 
express the overruling Spirit of the collective energy of 
the moral and material world. He affirms, therefore, no 
more than that a simple, sincere mind is the indispen- 
sable requisite of true science and true happiness. He 
affirms that a Being of pure and gentle habits will not 
fail, in every thought, in every object of every thought, 
to be aware of benignant visitings from the invisible ener- 
gies by which he is surrounded. 

Whosoever is free from the contamination of luxury 
and license, may go forth to the fields and to the woods, 
inhaling joyous renovation from the breath of Spring, or 
catching from the odors and sounds of Autumn some 
diviner mood of sweetest sadness, which improves the 
softened heart. Whosoever is no deceiver or destroyer 
of his fellow-men — no liar, no flatterer, no murderer — 
may walk among his species, deriving, from the com- 
muoion with all which they contain of beautiful or of 
majestic, some intercourse with the Universal God. 
Whosoever has maintained with his own heart the strict- 
est correspondence of confidence, who dares to examine 
and to estimate every imagination which suggests itself 
to his mind — whosoever is that which he designs to 
become, and only aspires to that which the divinity of his 
own nature shall consider and approve — he has already 
seen God. 



278 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

We live and move and think ; but we are not the crea- 
tors of our own origin and existence. We are not the 
arbiters of every motion of our own complicated nature ; 
we are not the masters of our own imaginations and 
moods of mental being. There is a Power by which we 
are surrounded, like the atmosphere, in which some 
motionless lyre is suspended, which visits with its breath 
our silent chords at will. 

Our most imperial and stupendous qualities — those on 
which the majesty and the power of humanity is erected 
— are, relatively to the inferior portion of its mechanism, 
active and imperial ; but they are the passive slaves of 
some higher and more omnipotent Power. This power is 
God ; and those who have seen God have, in the period 
of their purer and more perfect nature, been harmonized 
by their own will to so exquisite [a] consentaneity of 
power as to give forth divinest melody, when the breath 
of universal being sweeps over their frame. That those 
who are pure in heart shall see God, and that virtue is 
its own reward, may be considered as equivalent asser- 
tions. The former of these propositions is a metaphor- 
ical repetition of the latter. The advocates of literal 
interpretation have been the most efficacious enemies of 
those doctrines whose nature they profess to venerate. 
Thucydides, in particular, affords a number of instances 

calculated 

***** 

Tacitus says, that the Jews held God to be something 
eternal and supreme, neither subject to change nor to 
decay; therefore they permit no statues in their cities 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 279 

or their temples. The universal Being can only be 
described or defined by negatives which deny his subjec- 
tion to the laws of all inferior existences. Where indef- 
initeness ends, idolatry and anthropomorphism begin. 
God is, as Lucan has expressed, 

" Quodcunque vides, quodcunque moveris 
Et coelum et virtus.' ' 

The doctrine of what some fanatics have termed " a pe- 
culiar Providence " — that is, of some power beyond and 
superior to that which ordinarily guides the operations 
of the Universe, interfering to punish the vicious and re- 
ward the virtuous — is explicitly denied by Jesus Christ. 
The absurd and execrable doctrine of vengeance, in all 
its shapes, seems to have been contemplated by this great 
moralist with the profoundest disapprobation ; nor would 
he permit the most venerable of names to be perverted 
into a sanction for the meanest and most contemptible 
propensities incident to the nature of man. " Love your 
enemies, bless those who curse you, that ye may be the 
sons of your Heavenly Father, who makes the sun to 
shine on the good and on the evil, and the rain to fall on 
the just and unjust." How monstrous a calumny have 
not impostors dared to advance against the mild and 
gentle author of this just sentiment, and against the 
whole tenor of his doctrines and his life, overflowing 
with benevolence and forbearance and compassion. 
They have represented him asserting that the omnip- 
otent God — that merciful and benignant Power who 
scatters equally upon the beautiful earth all the elements 



280 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

of security and happiness — whose influences are dis- 
tributed to all whose natures admit of a participation 
in them — who sends to the weak and vicious crea- 
tures of his will all the benefits which they are capa- 
ble of sharing — that this God has devised a scheme 
whereby the body shall live after its apparent dissolution, 
and be rendered capable of indefinite torture. He is 
said to have compared the agonies which the vicious shall 
then endure to the excruciations of a living body bound 
among the flames, and being consumed sinew by sinew, 
and bone by bone. 

And this is to be done, not because it is supposed 
(and the supposition would be sufficiently detestable) that 
the moral nature of the sufferer would be improved by 
his tortures — it is done because it is just to be done. 
My neighbor, or my servant, or my child, has done me 
an injury, and it is just that he should suffer an injury in 
return. Such is the doctrine which Jesus Christ sum- 
moned his whole resources of persuasion to oppose. 
" Love your enemy, bless those who curse you : " such, 
he says, is the practice of God, and such must ye imitate 
if ye would be the children of God. 

Jesus Christ would hardly have cited, as an example 
of all that is gentle and beneficent and compassionate, a 
Being who shall deliberately scheme to inflict on a large 
portion of the human race tortures indescribably intense 
and indefinitely protracted ; who shall inflict them, too, 
without any mistake as to the true nature of pain — with- 
out any view to future good — merely because it is just. 

This, and no other, is justice : — to consider, under all 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 281 

the circumstances and consequences of a particular case, 
how the greatest quantity and purest quality of happiness 
will ensue from any action ; [this] is to be just, and there 
is no other justice. The distinction between justice and 
mercy was first imagined in the courts of tyrants 

to the usurpation of their rulers ; mankind re- 
ceive every relaxation of their tyranny as a circumstance 
of grace or favor. 

Such was the clemency of Julius Caesar, who, having 
achieved by a series of treachery and bloodshed the ruin 
of the liberties of his country, receives the fame of mercy 
because, possessing the power to slay the noblest men of 
Rome, he restrained his sanguinary soul, arrogating to 
himself as a merit an abstinence from actions which, if 
he had committed, he would only have added one other 
atrocity to his deeds. His assassins understood justice 
better. They saw the most virtuous and civilized com- 
munity of mankind under the insolent dominion of one 
wicked man, and they murdered him. They destroyed 
the usurper of the liberties of their countrymen, not be- 
cause they hated him, not because they would revenge 
the wrongs which they had sustained. Brutus, it is said, 
was his most familiar friend. Most of the conspirators 
were habituated to domestic intercourse with the man 
whom they destroyed. It was in affection, inextinguish- 
able love for all that is venerable and dear to the human 
heart, in the names of Country, Liberty, and Virtue ; it 
was in a serious and solemn and reluctant mood, that 
these holy patriots murdered their father and their friend. 
They would have spared his violent death, if he could 



282 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY 

have deposited the rights which he had assumed. His 
own selfish and narrow nature necessitated the sacrifices 
they made. They required that he should change all 
those habits which debauchery and bloodshed had twined 
around the fibres of his inmost frame of thought ; that he 
should participate with them and with his country those 
privileges which, having corrupted by assuming to himself, 
he would no longer value. They would have sacrificed their 
lives if they could have made him worthy of the sacrifice. 
Such are the feelings which Jesus Christ asserts to be- 
long to the ruling Power of the world. He desireth not 
the death of a sinner ; he makes the sun to shine upon 
the just and unjust. 

The nature of a narrow and malevolent spirit is so 
essentially incompatible with happiness as to render it 
inaccessible to the influences of the benignant God. All 
that his own perverse propensities will permit him to re- 
ceive, that God abundantly pours forth upon him. If 
there is the slightest overbalance of happiness, which can 
be allotted to the most atrocious offender, consistently 
with the nature of things, that is rigidly made his portion 
by the ever-watchful Power of God. In every case, the 
human mind enjoys the utmost pleasure which it is capa- 
ble of enjoying. God is represented by Jesus Christ as 
the Power from which, and through which, the streams 
of all that is excellent and delightful flow ; the Power 
which models, as they pass, all the elements of this mixed 
universe to the purest and most perfect shape which it 
belongs to their nature to assume. Jesus Christ attributes 
to this Power the faculty of Will. How far such a doc- 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 283 

trine, in its ordinary sense, may be philosophically true, 
or how far Jesus Christ intentionally availed himself of 
a metaphor easily understood, is foreign to the subject to 
consider. This much is certain, that Jesus Christ repre- 
sents God as the fountain of all goodness, the eternal ene- 
my of pain and evil, the uniform and unchanging motive 
of the salutary operations of the material world. The 
supposition that this cause is excited to action by some 
principle analogous to the human will, adds weight to the 
persuasion that it is foreign to its beneficent nature to in- 
flict the slightest pain. According to Jesus Christ, and 
according to the indisputable facts of the case, some evil 
spirit has dominion in this imperfect world. But there 
will come a time when the human mind shall be visited 
exclusively by the influences of the benignant Power. 
Men shall die, and their bodies shall rot under the ground ; 
all the organs through which their knowledge and their 
feelings have flowed, or in which they have originated, 
shall assume other forms, and become ministrant to pur- 
poses the most foreign from their former tendencies. 
There is a time when we shall neither be heard or be 
seen by the multitude of beings like ourselves by whom 
we have been so long surrounded. They shall go to 
graves ; where then ? 

It appears that we moulder to a heap of senseless 
dust ; to a few worms, that arise and perish, like our- 
selves. Jesus Christ asserts that these appearances are 
fallacious, and that a gloomy and cold imagination alone 
suggests the conception that thought can cease to be. 
Another and a more extensive state of being, rather than 



284 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

the complete extinction of being, will follow from that 
mysterious change which we call Death. There shall be 
no misery, no pain, no fear. The empire of evil spirits 
extends not beyond the boundaries of the grave. The 
unobscured irradiations from the fountain fire of all good- 
ness shall reveal all that is mysterious and unintelligible, 
until the mutual communications of knowledge and of 
happiness, throughout all thinking natures, constitute a 
harmony of good that ever varies and never ends. 

This is Heaven, when pain and evil cease, and when 
the benignant principle, untrammelled and uncontrolled, 
visits, in the fulness of its power, the universal frame of 
things. Human life, with all its unreal ills and transitory 
hopes, is as a dream, which departs before the dawn, 
leaving no trace of its evanescent hues. All that it 
contains of pure or of divine, visits the passive mind in 
some serenest mood. Most holy are the feelings through 
which our fellow-beings are rendered dear and [venera- 
ble] to the heart. The remembrance of their sweetness, 
and the completion of the hopes which they [excite], 
constitute, when we awaken from the sleep of life, the 
fulfilment of the prophecies of its most majestic and beau- 
tiful visions. 

We die, says Jesus Christ ; and when we awaken from 
the languor of disease, the glories and the happiness of 
Paradise are around us. All evil and pain have ceased 
forever. Our happiness, also, corresponds with, and is 
adapted to, the nature of what is most excellent in our 
being. We see God, and we see that he is good. How 
delightful a picture, even if it be not true ! How magnif- 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 285 

icent is the conception which this bold theory suggests 
to the contemplation, even if it be no more than the 
imagination of some sublimest and most holy poet, who, 
impressed with the loveliness and majesty of his own 
nature, is impatient and discontented with the narrow 
limits which this imperfect life and the dark grave have 
assigned forever as his melancholy potion. It is not to 
be believed that Hell, or punishment, was the conception 
of this daring mind. It is not to be believed that the 
most prominent group of this picture, which is framed so 
heart-moving and lovely — the accomplishment of all hu- 
man hope, the extinction of all morbid fear and anguish 
— would consist of millions of sensitive beings, enduring, 
in every variety of torture which Omniscient vengeance 
could invent, immortal agony. 

Jesus Christ opposed, with earnest eloquence, the panic 
fears and hateful superstitions which have enslaved man- 
kind for ages. Nations had risen against nations, em- 
ploying the subtlest devices of mechanism and mind to 
waste, and excruciate, and overthrow. The great com- 
munity of mankind had been subdivided into ten thou- 
sand communities, each organized for the ruin of the 
other. Wheel within wheel, the vast machine was in- 
stinct with the restless spirit of desolation. Pain had 
been inflicted, therefore pain should be inflicted in return. 
Retaliation of injuries is the only remedy which can be 
applied to violence, because it teaches the injurer the 
true nature of his own conduct, and operates as a warn- 
ing against its repetition. Nor must the same measure 
of calamity be returned as was received. If a man bor- 



286 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

rows a certain sum from me, he is bound to repay that 
sum. Shall no more be required of the enemy, who 
destroys my reputation, or ravages my fields ? It is just 
that he should suffer ten times the loss which he has in- 
flicted, that the legitimate consequences of his deed may 
never be obliterated from his remembrance, and that 
others may clearly discern and feel the danger of in- 
vading the peace of human society. Such reasonings, 
and the impetuous feelings arising from them, have 
armed nation against nation, family against family, man 
against man. 

An Athenian soldier, in the Ionian army which had 
assembled for the purpose of vindicating the liberty of 
the Asiatic Greeks, accidentally set fire to Sardis. The 
city, being composed of combustible materials, was burned 
to the ground. The Persians believed that this circum- 
stance of aggression made it their duty to retaliate on 
Athens. They assembled successive expeditions on the 
most extensive scale. Every nation of the East was 
united, to ruin the Grecian States. Athens was burned 
to the ground, the whole territory laid waste, and every 
living thing which it contained [destroyed]. After suf- 
fering and inflicting incalculable mischiefs, they desisted 
from their purpose only when they became impotent to 
effect it. The desire of revenge, for the aggression of 
Persia, outlived, among the Greeks, that love of liberty, 
which had been their most glorious distinction among 
the nations of mankind, and Alexander became the in- 
strument of its completion. The mischiefs attendant on 
this consummation of fruitless ruin are too manifold 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 287 

and too tremendous to be related. If all the thought, 
which had been expended on the construction of engines 
of agony and death — the modes of aggression and de- 
fence, the raising of armies, and the acquirement of those 
arts of tyranny and falsehood without which mixed 
multitudes could neither be led nor governed — had 
been employed to promote the true welfare and extend 
the real empire of man, how different would have been 
the present situation of human society ! how different 
the state of knowledge in physical and moral science, 
upon which the power and happiness of mankind es- 
sentially depend ! What nation has the example of 
the desolation of Attica by Mardonius and Xerxes, or 
the extinction of the Persian empire by Alexander of 
Macedon, restrained from outrage ? "Was not the pre- 
text of this latter system of spoliation derived imme- 
diately from the former ? Had revenge, in this instance, 
any other effect than to increase, instead of diminish- 
ing, the mass of malice and evil already existing in the 
world ? 

The emptiness and folly of retaliation are apparent 
from every example which can be brought forward. 
Not only Jesus Christ, but the most eminent professors 
of every sect of philosophy, have reasoned against this 
futile superstition. Legislation is, in one point of view, 
to be considered as an attempt to provide against the 
excesses of this deplorable mistake. It professes to 
assign the penalty of all private injuries, and denies to 
individuals the right of vindicating their proper cause. 
This end is certainly not attained without some accom- 



288 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

modation to the propensities which it desires to destroy. 
Still, it recognizes no principle but the production of 
the greatest eventual good with the least immediate 
injury; and to regard the torture, or the death of any 
human being as unjust, of whatever mischief he may 
have been the author, so that the result shall not more 
than compensate for the immediate pain. 

Mankind, transmitting from generation to generation 
the legacy of accumulated vengeances, and pursuing with 
the feelings of duty the misery of their fellow-beings, 
have not failed to attribute to the Universal Cause a 
character analogous with their own. The image of this 
invisible, mysterious Being, is more or less excellent 
and perfect — resembles more or less its original — in 
proportion to the perfection of the mind on which it 
is impressed. Thus, that nation which has arrived at 
the highest step in the scale of moral progression will 
believe most purely in that God, the knowledge of whose 
real attributes is considered as the firmest basis of the 
true religion. The reason of the belief of each indi- 
vidual, also, will be so far regulated by his conceptions of 
what is good. Thus, the conceptions which any nation 
or individual entertains of the God of its popular wor- 
ship may be inferred from their own actions and opin- 
ions, which are the subjects of their approbation among 
their fellow-men. Jesus Christ instructed his disciples to 
be perfect, as their Father in Heaven is perfect, declar- 
ing at the same time his belief that human perfection 
requires the refraining from revenge and retribution in 
any of its various shapes. 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 289 

The perfection of the human and the divine character 
are thus asserted to be the same. Man, by resembling 
God, fulfils most accurately the tendencies of his nature ; 
and God comprehends within himself all that constitutes 
human perfection. Thus, God is a model through which 
the excellence of man is to be estimated, whilst the ab- 
stract perfection of the human character is the type of 
the actual perfection of the divine. It is not to be 
believed that a person of such comprehensive views as 
Jesus Christ could have fallen into so manifest a contra- 
diction as to assert that men would be tortured after death 
by that Being whose character is held up as a model to 
human kind, because he is incapable of malevolence and 
revenge. All the arguments which have been brought 
forward to justify retribution fail, when retribution is 
destined neither to operate as an example to other agents 
nor to the offender himself. How feeble such reasoning 
is to be considered has been already shown ; but it is 
the character of an evil Daemon to consign the beings 
whom he has endowed with sensation to unprofitable 
anguish. The peculiar circumstances attendant on the 
conception of God casting sinners to burn in Hell for- 
ever, combine to render that conception the most perfect 
specimen of the greatest imaginable crime. Jesus Christ 
represented God as the principle of all good, the source 
of all happiness, the wise and benevolent Creator and 
Preserver of all living things. But the interpreters of 
his doctrines have confounded the good and the evil 
principle. They observed the emanations of their uni- 
versal natures to be inextricably entangled in the world, 
13 



290 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

and, trembling before the power of the cause of all 
things, addressed to it such flattery as is acceptable to 
the ministers of human tyranny, attributing love and 
wisdom to those energies which they felt to be exerted 
indifferently for the purposes of benefit and calamity. 

Jesus Christ expressly asserts that distinction between 
the good and evil principle which it has been the prac- 
tice of all theologians to confound. How far his doc- 
trines, or their interpretation, may be true, it would 
scarcely have been worth while to inquire, if the one 
did not afford an example and an incentive to the at- 
tainment of true virtue, whilst the other holds out a 
sanction and apology for every species of mean and cruel 
vice. 

It cannot be precisely ascertained in what degree 
Jesus Christ accommodated his doctrines to the opinions 
of his auditors; or in what degree he really said all 
that he is related to have said. He has left no written 
record of himself, and we are compelled to judge from 
the imperfect and obscure information which his biog- 
raphers (persons certainly of very undisciplined and 
undiscriminating minds) have transmitted to posterity. 
These writers (our only guides) impute sentiments to 
Jesus Christ which flatly contradict each other. They 
represent him as narrow, superstitious, and exquisitely 
vindictive and malicious. They insert, in the midst 
of a strain of impassioned eloquence or sagest exhor- 
tation, a sentiment only remarkable for its naked and 
drivelling folly. But it is not difficult to distinguish 
the inventions by which these historians have filled up 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 291 

the interstices of tradition, or corrupted the simplicity 
of truth from the real character of their rude amaze- 
ment. They have left sufficiently clear indications of 
the genuine character of Jesus Christ to rescue it for- 
ever from the imputations cast upon it by their ignorance 
and fanaticism. We discover that he is the enemy of 
oppression and of falsehood ; that he is the advocate 
of equal justice ; that he is neither disposed to sanction 
bloodshed or deceit, under whatsoever pretences their 
practice may be vindicated. We discover that he was 
a man of meek and majestic demeanor, calm in danger ; 
of natural and simple thought and habits; beloved to 
adoration by his adherents ; unmoved, solemn, and se- 
vere. 

It is utterly incredible that this man said, that if you 
hate your enemy you would find it to your account to 
return him good for evil; since, by such a temporary 
oblivion of vengeance, you would heap coals of fire on 
his head. Where such contradictions occur, a favora- 
ble construction is warranted by the general innocence 
of manners and comprehensiveness of views which he is 
represented to possess. . The rule of criticism to be 
adopted in judging of the life, actions, and words of a 
man who has acted any conspicuous part in the revolu- 
tions of the world, should not be narrow. We ought to 
form a general image of his character and of his doc- 
trines, and refer to this whole the distinct portions of 
actions and speech by which they are diversified. It is 
not here asserted that no contradictions are to be admit- 
ted to have taken place in the system of Jesus Christ 



292 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

between doctrines promulgated in different states of feel- 
ing or information, or even such as are implied in the 
enunciation of a scheme of thought, various and obscure 
through its immensity and depth.' It is not asserted 
that no degree of human indignation ever hurried him, 
beyond the limits which his calmer mood had placed, to 
disapprobation against vice and folly. Those deviations 
from the history of his life are alone to be vindicated 
which represent his own essential character in contra- 
diction with itself. 

Every human mind has what Bacon calls its " idola 
speeds " — peculiar images which reside in the inner cave 
of thought. These constitute the essential and distinc- 
tive character of every human being; to which every 
action and every word have intimate relation ; and by 
which, in depicting a character, the genuineness and 
meaning of these words and actions are to be deter- 
mined. Every fanatic or enemy of virtue is not at 
liberty to misrepresent the greatest geniuses and most 
heroic defenders of all that is valuable in this mortal 
world. History, to gain any credit, must contain some 
truth, and that truth shall thus be made a sufficient indi- 
cation of prejudice and deceit. 

With respect to the miracles which these biographers 
have related, I have already declined to enter into any 
discussion on their nature or their existence. The sup- 
position of their falsehood or their truth would modify 
in no degree the hues of the picture which is attempted 
to be delineated. To judge truly of the moral and phil- 
osophical character of Socrates, it is not necessary to 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 293 

determine the question of the familiar Spirit which [it] 
is supposed that he believed to attend on him. The 
power of the human mind, relatively to intercourse with, 
or dominion over, the invisible world, is doubtless an 
interesting theme of discussion ; but the connection of 
the instance of Jesus Christ with the established religion 
of the country in which I write, renders it dangerous to 
subject one's self to the imputation of introducing new 
Gods or abolishing old ones ; nor is the duty of mutual 
forbearance sufficiently understood to render it certain 
that the metaphysician and the moralist, even though he 
carefully sacrifice a cock to Esculapius, may not receive 
something analogous to the bowl of hemlock for the 
reward of his labors. Much, however, of what his 
[Christ's] biographers have asserted, is not to be rejected 
merely because inferences, inconsistent with the general 
spirit of his system, are to be adduced from its admission. 
Jesus Christ did what every other reformer who has 
produced any considerable effect upon the world has 
done. He accommodated his doctrines to the preposses- 
sions of those whom he addressed. He used a language 
for this view sufficiently familiar to our comprehensions. 
He said, — However new or strange my doctrines may 
appear to you, they are in fact only the restoration and 
reestablishment of those original institutions and ancient 
customs of your own law and religion. The constitu- 
tions of your faith and policy, although perfect in their 
origin, have become corrupt and altered, and have fallen 
into decay. I profess to restore them to their pristine 
authority and splendor. " Think not that I am come 



294 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

to destroy the Law and the Prophets. I am come not 
to destroy, but to fulfil. Till heaven and earth pass 
away, one jot or one tittle shall in nowise pass away 
from the Law, till all be fulfilled." Thus, like a skilful 
orator (see Cicero, De Oratore), he secures the prejudices 
of his auditors, and induces them, by his professions of 
sympathy with their feelings, to enter with a willing 
mind into the exposition of his own. The art of per- 
suasion differs from that of reasoning; and it is of no 
small moment, to the success even of a true cause, that 
the judges who are to determine on its merits should be 
free from those national and religious predilections which 
render the multitude both deaf and blind. 

Let not this practice be considered as an unworthy 
artifice. It were best for the cause of reason that man- 
kind should acknowledge no authority but its own ; but 
it is useful to a certain extent, that they should not con- 
sider those institutions which they have been habituated 
to reverence as opposing an obstacle to its admission. 
All reformers have been compelled to practice this mis- 
representation of their own true feelings and opinions. 
It is deeply to be lamented that a word should ever issue 
from human lips which contains the minutest alloy of 
dissimulation, or simulation, or hypocrisy, or exaggera- 
tion, or anything but the precise and rigid image which 
is present to the mind, and which ought to dictate the ex- 
pression. But the practice of utter sincerity towards 
other men would avail to no good end, if they were in- 
capable of practising it towards their own minds. In 
fact, truth cannot be communicated until it is perceived. 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 295 

The interests, therefore, of truth require that an orator 
should, as far as possible, produce in his hearers that state 
of mind on which alone his exhortations could fairly be 
contemplated and examined. 

Having produced this favorable disposition of mind, 
Jesus Christ proceeds to qualify, and finally to abrogate, 
the system of the Jewish law. He descants upon its in- 
sufficiency as a code of moral conduct, which it professed 
to be, and absolutely selects the law of retaliation as an 
instance of the absurdity and immorality of its institu- 
tions. The conclusion of the speech is in a strain of the 
most daring and most impassioned speculation. He seems 
emboldened by the success of his exculpation to the mul- 
titude, to declare in public the utmost singularity of his 
faith. He tramples upon all received opinions, on all the 
cherished luxuries and superstitions of mankind. He 
bids them cast aside the claims of custom and blind faith, 
by which they have been encompassed from the very cra- 
dle of their being, and receive the imitator and minister 
of the Universal God. 

EQUALITY OF MANKIND. 

" The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath 
chosen me to preach the gospel to the poor ; He hath sent 
me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to 
the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, and to set 
at liberty them that are bruised." (Luke, ch. iv., v. 18.) 
This is an enunciation of all that Plato and Diogenes 
have speculated upon the equality of mankind. They 



296 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

saw that the great majority of the human species were 
reduced to the situation of squalid ignorance and moral 
imbecility, for the purpose of purveying for the luxury of 
a few, and contributing to the satisfaction of their thirst 
for power. Too mean-spirited and too feeble in resolve 
to attempt the conquest of their own evil passions, and 
of the difficulties of the material world, men sought do- 
minion over their fellow-men, as an easy method to gain 
that apparent majesty and power which the instinct of 
their nature requires. Plato wrote the scheme of a re- 
public, in which law should watch over the equal distri- 
bution of the external instruments of unequal power — 
honors, property, &c. Diogenes devised a nobler and a 
more worthy system of opposition to the system of the 
slave and tyrant. He said : " It is in the power of each 
individual to level the inequality which is the topic of the 
complaint of mankind. Let him be aware of his own 
worth, and the station which he occupies in the scale of 
moral beings. Diamonds and gold, palaces and sceptres, 
derive their value from the opinion of mankind. The 
only sumptuary law which can be imposed on the use and 
fabrication of these instruments of mischief and deceit, 
these symbols of successful injustice, is the law of opin- 
ion. Every man possesses the power in this respect, to 
legislate for himself. Let him be well aware of his own 
worth and moral dignity. Let him yield in meek rever- 
ence to any wiser or worthier than he, so long as he 
accords no veneration to the splendor of his apparel, the 
luxury of his food, the multitude of his flatterers and 
slaves. It is because, mankind, ye value and seek the 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 297 

empty pageantry of wealth and social power, that ye are 
enslaved to its possessions. Decrease your physical 
wants ; learn to live, so far as nourishment and shelter 
are concerned, like the beast of the forest and the birds 
of the air ; ye will need not to complain, that other indi- 
viduals of your species are surrounded by the diseases 
of luxury and the vices of subserviency and oppression." 
With all those who are truly wise, there will be an entire 
community, not only of thoughts and feelings, but also of 
external possessions. Insomuch, therefore, as ye live 
[wisely], ye may enjoy the community of whatsoever 
benefits arise from the inventions of civilized life. They 
are of value only for purposes of mental power ; they 
are of value only as they are capable of being shared 
and applied to the common advantage of philosophy ; 
and, if there be no love among men, whatever institutions 
they may frame must be subservient to the same purpose 
— to the continuance of inequality. If there be no love 
among men, it is best that he who sees through the hollow- 
ness of their professions should fly from their society, and 
suffice to his own soul. In wisdom, he will thus lose 
nothing ; in power, he will gain everything. In propor- 
tion to the love existing among men, so will be the com- 
munity of property and power. Among true and real 
friends, all is common ; and, were ignorance and envy 
and superstition banished from the world, all mankind 
would be friends. The only perfect and genuine re- 
public is that which comprehends every living being. 
Those distinctions which have been artificially set up, 
of nations, societies, families, and religions, are only gen- 
13* 



298 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

eral names, expressing the abhorrence and contempt with 
which men blindly consider their fellow-men. I love my 
country ; I love the city in which I was born ; my parents, 
my wife, and the children of my care ; and to this city, 
this woman, and this nation, it is incumbent on me to do 
all the benefit in my power. To what do these distinctions 
point, but to an evident denial of the Unity which hu- 
manity imposes on you of doing every possible good to 
every individual, under whatever denomination he may 
be comprehended, to whom you have the power of doing 
it ? You ought to love all mankind ; nay, every indi- 
vidual of mankind. You ought not to love the individu- 
als of your domestic circle less, but to love those who 
exist beyond it more. Once make the feelings of confi- 
dence and of affection universal, and the distinctions of 
property and power will vanish ; nor are they to be 
abolished without substituting something equivalent in 
mischief to them, until all mankind shall acknowledge 
an entire community of rights. 

But, as the shades of night are dispelled by the faintest 
glimmerings of dawn, so shall the minutest progress of 
the benevolent feelings disperse, in some degree, the 
gloom of tyranny, and [curb the] ministers of mutual 
suspicion and abhorrence. Your physical wants are few, 
whilst those of your mind and heart cannot be numbered 
or described, from their multitude and complication. To 
secure the gratification of the former, you have made 
yourselves the bondslaves of each other. 

They have cultivated these meaner wants to so great 
an excess as to judge nothing so valuable or desirable 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 299 

[as] what relates to their gratification. Hence has arisen 
a system of passions which loses sight of the end they 
were originally awakened to attain. Fame, power, and 
gold, are loved for their own sakes — are worshipped with 
a blind, habitual idolatry. The pageantry of empire, 
and the fame of irresistible might, are contemplated by 
the possessor with unmeaning complacency, without a 
retrospect to the prosperities which first made him con- 
sider them of value. It is from the cultivation of the 
most contemptible properties of human nature that dis- 
cord and torpor and indifference, by which the moral 
universe is disordered, essentially depend. So long as 
these are the ties by which human society is connected, 
let it not be admitted that they are fragile. 

Before man can be free, and equal, and truly wise, he 
must cast aside the chains of habit and superstition ; he 
must strip sensuality of its pomp, and selfishness of its 
excuses, and contemplate actions and objects as they 
really are. He will discover the wisdom of universal 
love ; he will feel the meanness and the injustice of 
sacrificing the reason and the liberty of his fellow-men 
to the indulgence of his physical appetites, and becoming 
a party to their degradation by the consummation of his 
own. He will consider, evyevatag demc. 

Such, with those differences only incidental to the age 
and state of society in which they were promulgated, 
appear to have been the doctrines of Jesus Christ. It 
is not too much to assert that they have been the doc- 
trines of every just and compassionate mind that ever 
speculated on the social nature of man. The dogma of 



300 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

the equality of mankind has been advocated with various 
success, in different ages of the world. It was imper- 
fectly understood, but a kind of instinct in its favor 
influenced considerably the practice of ancient Greece 
and Rome. Attempts to establish usages, founded on 
this dogma, have been made in modern Europe, in sev- 
eral instances, since the revival of literature and the 
arts. Rousseau has vindicated this opinion with all the 
eloquence of sincere and earnest faith ; and is, perhaps, 
the philospher among the moderns who, in the structure 
of his feelings and understanding, resembles most nearly 
the mysterious sage of Judea. It is impossible to read 
those passionate words in which Jesus Christ upbraids 
the pusillanimity and sensuality of mankind, without 
being strongly reminded of the more connected and 
systematic enthusiasm of Rousseau. " No man," says 
Jesus Christ, " can serve two masters. Take, therefore, 
no thought for to-morrow, for the morrow shall take 
thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day 
is the evil thereof." If we would profit by the wisdom 
of a sublime and poetical mind, we must beware of the 
vulgar error of interpreting literally every expression it 
employs. Nothing can well be more remote from truth 
than the literal and strict construction of such expres- 
sions as Jesus Christ delivers, or than [to imagine that] 
it were best for man that he should abandon all his 
acquirements in physical and intellectual science, and 
depend on the spontaneous productions of nature for 
his subsistence. Nothing is more obviously false than 
that the remedy for the inequality among men consists 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 301 

in their return to the condition of savages and beasts. 
Philosophy will never be understood if we approach the 
study of its mysteries with so narrow and illiberal con- 
ceptions of its universality. Rousseau certainly did not 
mean to persuade the immense population of his country 
to abandon all the arts of life, destroy their habitations 
and their temples, and become the inhabitants of the 
woods. He addressed the most enlightened of his com- 
patriots, and endeavored to persuade them to set the 
example of a pure and simple life, by placing in the 
strongest point of view his conceptions of the calamitous 
and diseased aspect which, overgrown as it is with the 
vices of sensuality and selfishness, is exhibited by civil- 
ized society. Nor can it be believed that Jesus Christ 
endeavored to prevail on the inhabitants of Jerusalem 
neither to till their fields, nor to frame a shelter against 
the sky, nor to provide food for the morrow. He simply 
exposes, with the passionate rhetoric of enthusiastic love 
towards all human beings, the miseries and mischiefs of 
that system which makes all things subservient to the 
subsistence of the material frame of man. He warns 
them that no man can serve two masters — God and 
Mammon; that it is impossible at once to be high- 
minded and just and wise, and to comply with the 
accustomed forms of human society, seek power, wealth, 
or empire, either from the idolatry of habit, or as the 
direct instruments of sensual gratification. He instructs 
them that clothing and food and shelter are not, as they 
suppose, the true end of human life, but only certain 
means, to be valued in proportion to their subserviency 



302 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

to that end. These means it is the right of every human 
being to possess, and that in the same degree. In this 
respect the fowls of the air and the lilies of the field 
are examples for the imitation of mankind. They are 
clothed and fed by the Universal God. Permit, there- 
fore, the Spirit of this benignant Principle to visit your 
intellectual frame, or, in other words, become just and 
pure. When you understand the degree of attention 
which the requisitions of your physical nature demand, 
you will perceive how little labor suffices for their satis- 
faction. Your Heavenly Father knoweth you have need 
of these things. The universal Harmony, or Reason, 
which makes your passive frame of thought its dwelling, 
in proportion to the purity and majesty of its nature will 
instruct you, if ye are willing to attain that exalted con- 
dition, in what manner to possess all the objects neces- 
sary for your material subsistence. All men are [im- 
pelled] to become thus pure and happy. All men are 
called to participate in the community of Nature's gifts. 
The man who has fewest bodily wants approaches near- 
est to the Divine Nature. Satisfy these wants at the 
cheapest rate, and expend the remaining energies of your 
nature in the attainment of virtue and knowledge. The 
mighty frame of the wonderful and lovely world is the 
food of your contemplation, and living beings who re- 
semble your own nature, and are bound to you by simi- 
larity of sensations, are destined to be the nutriment of 
your affection ; united, they are the consummation of the 
widest hopes your mind can contain. Xe can expend 
thus no labor on mechanism consecrated to luxury and 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 303 

pride. How abundant will not be your progress in all 
that truly ennobles and extends human nature ! By ren- 
dering yourselves thus worthy, ye will be as free in your 
imaginations as the swift and many- colored fowls of the 
air, and as beautiful in pure simplicity as the lilies of the 
field. In proportion as mankind becomes wise — yes, in 
exact proportion to that wisdom — should be the extinc- 
tion of the unequal system under which they now sub- 
sist. Government is, in fact, the mere badge of their 
depravity. They are so little aware of the inestimable 
benefits of mutual love as to indulge, without thought, 
and almost without motive, in the worst excesses of self- 
ishness and malice. Hence, without graduating human 
society into a scale of empire and subjection, its very 
existence has become impossible. It is necessary that 
universal benevolence should supersede the regulations 
of precedent and prescription, before these regulations 
can safely be abolished. Meanwhile, their very subsist- 
ence depends on the system of injustice and violence 
which they have been devised to palliate. They suppose 
men endowed with the power of deliberating and deter- 
mining for their equals ; whilst these men, as frail and as 
ignorant as the multitude whom they rule, possess, as a 
practical consequence of this power, the right which they 
of necessity exercise to prevent, (together with their 
own), the physical and moral and intellectual nature of 
all mankind. 

It is the object of wisdom to equalize the distinctions 
on which this power depends, by exhibiting in their 
proper worthlessness the objects, a contention concerning 



304 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

which renders its existence a necessary evil. The evil, 
in fact, is virtually abolished wherever justice is prac- 
tised ; and it is abolished in precise proportion to the 
prevalence of true virtue. 

The whole frame of human things is infected by an 
insidious poison. Hence it is that man is blind in his 
understanding, corrupt in his moral sense, and diseased 
in his physical functions. The wisest and most sublime 
of the ancient poets saw this truth, and embodied their 
conception of its value in retrospect to the earliest ages 
of mankind. They represented equality as the reign 
of Saturn, and taught that mankind had gradually 
degenerated from the virtue which enabled them to 
enjoy or maintain this happy state. Their doctrine was 
philosophically false. Later and more correct observa- 
tions have instructed us that uncivilized man is the most 
pernicious and miserable of beings, and that the violence 
and injustice, which are the genuine indications of real 
inequality, obtain in the society of these beings without 
palliation. Their imaginations of a happier state of 
human society were referred, in truth, to the Saturnian 
period ; they ministered, indeed, to thoughts of despond- 
ency and sorrow. But they were the children of airy 
hope — the prophets and parents of man's futurity. Man 
was once as a wild beast ; he has become a moralist, a 
metaphysican, a poet, and an astronomer. Lucretius or 
Virgil might have referred the comparison to themselves ; 
and, as a proof of the progress of the nature of man, 
challenged a comparison with the cannibals of Scythia.* 
* Jesus Christ foresaw what the poets retrospectively imagined. 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 305 

The experience of the ages which have intervened be- 
tween the present period and that in which Jesus Christ 
taught, tends to prove his doctrine, and to illustrate theirs. 
There is more equality because there is more justice, and 
there is more justice because there is more universal 
knowledge. 

To the accomplishment of such mighty hopes were the 
views of Jesus Christ extended ; such did he believe to 
be the tendency of his doctrines — the abolition of arti- 
ficial distinctions among mankind, so far as the love 
which it becomes all human beings to bear towards each 
other, and the knowledge of truth from which that love 
will never fail to be produced, avail to their destruction. 
A young man came to Jesus Christ, struck by the mirac- 
ulous dignity and simplicity of his character, and at- 
tracted by the words of power which. he uttered. He 
demanded to be considered as one of the followers of 
his creed. " Sell all that thou hast," replied the philos- 
opher ; " give it to the poor, and follow me." But the 
young man had large possessions, and he went away 
sorrowing. 

The system of equality was attempted, after Jesus 
Christ's death, to be carried into effect by his followers. 
" They that believed had all things in common ; they 
sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to 
all men, as every man had need; and they continued 
daily with one accord in the temple, and, breaking bread 
from house to house, did eat their meat with gladness 
and singleness of heart." (Acts, ch. 2.) 

The practical application of the doctrines of strict 



306 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

justice to a state of society established in its contempt, 
was such as might have been expected. After the tran- 
sitory glow of enthusiasm had faded from the minds of 
men, precedent and habit resumed their empire; they 
broke like an universal deluge on one shrinking and 
solitary island. Men to whom birth had allotted ample 
possession, looked with complacency on sumptuous apart- 
ments and luxurious food, and those ceremonials of delu- 
sive majesty which surround the throne of power and the 
court of wealth. Men from whom these things were 
withheld by their condition, began again to gaze with 
stupid envy on pernicious splendor ; and, by desiring 
the false greatness of another's state, to sacrifice the in- 
trinsic dignity of their own. The demagogues of the 
infant republic of the Christian sect, attaining, through 
eloquence or artifice, to influence amongst its members, 
first violated (under the pretence of watching over their 
integrity) the institutions established for the common and 
equal benefit of all. These demagogues artfully silenced 
the voice of the moral sense among them by engaging 
them to attend, not so much to the cultivation of a virtu- 
ous and happy life in this mortal scene, as to the attain- 
ment of a fortunate condition after death ; not so much to 
the consideration of those means, by which the state of 
man is adorned and improved, as an inquiry into the se- 
crets of the connection between God and the world — 
things which, they well knew, were not to be explained, 
or even to be conceived. The system of equality which 
they established, necessarily fell to the ground, because 
it is a system that must result from, rather than precede, 



ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 307 

the moral improvement of human kind. It was a 
circumstance of no moment that the first adherents of 
the system of Jesus Christ cast their property into 
a common stock. The same degree of real community 
of property could have subsisted without this formality, 
which served only to extend a temptation of dishonesty 
to the treasurers of so considerable a patrimony. Every 
man, in proportion to his virtue, considers himself, 
with respect to the great community of mankind, as 
the steward and guardian of their interests in the prop- 
erty which he chances to possess. Every man, in 
proportion to his wisdom, sees the manner in which it 
is his duty to employ the resources which the consent of 
mankind has intrusted to his discretion. Such is the 
[annihilation] of the unjust inequality of powers and 
conditions existing in the world, and so gradually and 
inevitably is the progress of equality accommodated 
to the progress of wisdom and of virtue among man- 
kind. 

Meanwhile, some benefit has not failed to flow from 
the imperfect attempts which have been made, to erect 
a system of equal rights to property and power, upon 
the basis of arbitrary institutions. They have undoubt- 
edly, . in every case, from the instability of their forma- 
tion, failed. Still, they constitute a record of those 
epochs at which a true sense of justice suggested itself 
to the understandings of men, so that they consented 
to forego all the cherished delights of luxury, all the 
habitual gratifications arising out of the possession or 
the expectations of power, all the superstitions with 



308 ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY. 

which the accumulated authority of ages had made them 
dear and venerable. They are so many trophies erected 
in the enemy's land, to mark the limits of the victorious 
progress of truth and justice. 

Jesus Christ did not fail to advert to the 



[the rest is wanting.] 



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The Panorama, and other Poems. Cloth. 50 cents. 

Alexander Smith. 

A Life Drama. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cents. 
City Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cents. 



Bayard Taylor. 

Poems of Home and Travel. Cloth. 75 cents. 
Poems of the Orient. Cloth. 75 cents. 

Edwin P. Whipple. 

Essays and Reviews. 2 vols. $2.00. 
Lectures on Literature and Life. 63 cents. 
Washington and the Revolution. 20 cents. 

George S. Hillard. 

Six Months in Italy. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.50. 

Dangers and Duties of the Mercantile Profes- 
sion. 25 cents. 

Selections from the Writings of Walter Savage 
Landor. 1 vol. 16mo 75 cents. 

Robert Browning. 

Poetical Works. 2 vols. $2.00. 
Men and Women. 1 vol. $1.00. 



6 A Li& of Books Publilhed 
Henry Giles. 

Lectures, Essays, &c. 2 vols. $1.50. 
Discourses on Life. 75 cents. 
Illustrations of Genius. Cloth. $1.00. 



William Motherwell. 

Complete Poetical Works. In Blue and Gold. 1 vol. 

75 cents. 
Minstrelsy, Anc. and Mod. 2 vols. Boards. $1.50. 



Capt. Mayne Reid. 

The Plant Hunters. With Plates. 75 cents. 

The Desert Home : or, The Adventures of a Lost 

Family in the Wilderness. With fine Plates. $1.00. 
The Boy Hunters. With fine Plates. 75 cents. 
The Young Voyageurs : or, The Boy Hunters in 

the North. With Plates. 75 cents. 
The Forest Exiles. With fine Plates. 75 cents. 
The Bush Boys. With fine Plates. 75 cents. 
The Young Yagers. With fine Plates. 75 cents. 
Ran Away to Sea : An Autobiography for Boys. 

With fine Plates. 75 cents. 



Goethe, 

Wilhelm Meister. Translated by Carlyle. 2 vols. 

$2.50. 
Faust. Translated by Hayivard. 75 cents. 
Faust. Translated by Charles T. Brooks. $1.00. 

Rev. Charles Lowell. 

Practical Sermons. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25. 
Occasional Sermons. With fine Portrait. $1.25. 



by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 





Rev. 


F. 


W. Robertson. 


Sermons. 


First Series 


. $1.00. 


u 


Second 


a 


$1.00. 


u 


Third 


a 


$1.00. 


a 


Fourth 


a 


$1.00. 



Lectures and Addresses on Literary and Social 
Topics. $1.00. 

R. H. Stoddard. 

Poems. Cloth. 63 cents. 

Adventures in Fairy Land. 75 cents. 

Songs of Summer. 75 cents. 



George Limt. 



Lyric Poems, &c. Cloth. 63 cents. 

Julia. A Poem. 50 cents. 

Three Eras of New England. $1.00. 

Philip James Bailey. 

The Mystic, and other Poems. 50 cents. 
The Angel World, &c. 50 cents. 
The Age, a Satire. 75 cents. 

Anna Mary Howitt. 

An Art Student in Munich. $1.25. 
A School of Life. A Story. 75 cents. 

Mary Russell Mitford. 

Our Village. Illustrated. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50. 
Atherton, and other Stories. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.25. 

Josiah Phillips Quincy. 

Lyteria : a Dramatic Poem. 50 cents. 
Charicles : a Dramatic Poem. 50 cents. 



8 



A Lift of Books Publiftied 



Grace Greenwood. 

* 

Greenwood Leaves. 1st & 2d Series. $1.25 each. 
Poetical Works. With fine Portrait. 75 cents. 
History of My Pets. With six fine Engravings. Scarlet 
^cloth. 50 cents. 
' Recollections of My Childhood. With six fine En- 
gravings. Scarlet cloth. 50 cents. 
Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe. Si. 25. 
Merrie England. A new Juvenile. 75 cents. 
A Forest Tragedy, and other Tales. $1.00. 
Stories and Legends. A new Juvenile. 75 cents. 

Mrs. Crosland. 

Lydia : a Woman's Book. Cloth. 75 cents. 
English Tales and Sketches. Cloth. $1.00. 
Memorable Women. Illustrated. $1.00. 



Mrs. Jameson. 



Characteristics of Women. Blue and Gold. 

Loves of the Poets. " " 

Diary of an Ennuyee n " " 

Sketches of Art, &c. " " 

Studies and Stories. " " 

Italian Painters. " " 

Mrs. Mowatt. 

Autobiography of an Actress. $1.25. 
Plays. Armand and Fashion. 50 cents. 
Mimic Life. 1 vol. $1.25. 
The Twin Roses. 1 vol. 75 cents. 



75 cents. 
75 cents. 
75 cents. 
75 cents. 
75 cents. 
75 cents. 



Mrs. Howe. 

Passion Flowers. 75 cents. 
Words for the Hour. 75 cents. 
The World's Own. 50 cents. 



by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 9 

Alice Gary. 

Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 

Clovernook Children. With Plates. 75 cents. 

Mrs. Eliza B. Lee. 

Memoir of the Buckminsters. $1.25. 
Florence, the Parish Ouphan. 50 cents. 
Parthenia. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 

Samuel Smiles. 

Life of George Stephenson : Engineer. $1.00. 

Blanchard Jerrold. 

Douglas Jerrold's Wit. 75 cents. 

Life and Letters of Douglas Jerrold. $1.00. 

Mrs. Judson. 

Alderbrook. By Fanny Forrester. 2 vols. $1.75. 
The Kathayan Slave, and Other Papers. 1 vol. 

63 cents. 
My Two Sisters : a Sketch from Memory. 50 cents. 

Trelawny. 

Recollections of Shelley and Byron. 75 cents. 



Charles Sprague. 



Poetical and Prose Writings. With fine Portrait. 

Boards. 75 cents. 

Mrs. Lawrence. 

Light on the Dark River: or Memoirs of Mrs. 

Hamlin. 1 vol. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00. 



io A Lift of Books Publifhed 
G. A. Sala. 

A Journey due North. $1.00. 

Thomas W. Parsons. 

Poems. $1.00. 

John G. Saxe. 

Poems. With Portrait. Boards. 63 cents. Cloth. 75 cents. 

Charles T. Brooks. 

German Lyrics. Translated. 1 vol. 16mo. Cloth. $1.00. 

Samuel Bailey. 

Essays on the Formation of Opinions and the 
Pursuit of Truth. 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 

Tom Brown. 

School Days at Rugby. By An Old Boy. 1 vol. 16mo. 

$1.00. 

The Scouring of the White Horse, or the Long 
vacation Holiday of a London Clerk. By The Author 
of ' School Bays at Rugby: 1 vol. 16mo. $1.00. 

Leigh Hunt. 

Poems. Blue and Gold. 2 vols. $1.50. 

Gerald Massey. 

Poetical Works. Blue and Gold. 75 cents. 



C. W. Upham. 



John C. Fremont's Life, Explorations, &c. With Il- 
lustrations. 75 cents. 



by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 11 

W. M. Thackeray. 

Ballads. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 

Charles Mackay. 

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Henry Alford. 

Poems. $1.25. 

Richard Monckton Milnes. 

Poems of Many Years. Boards. 75 cents. 

George H. Boker. 

Plays and Poems. 2 vols. $2.00. 

Matthew Arnold. 

Poems. 75 cents. 

W. Edmondstoune Aytoun. 

Bothwell. 75 cents. 

Mrs. Rosa V. Johnson. 

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Henry T. Tuckerman. 

Poems. Cloth. 75 cents. 

William Mountford. 

Thorpe : A Quiet English Town, and Human Life 

THEREIN. 16mO. $1.00. 



12 A Lift of Books Publifhed 
James G. Percival. 

Poetical Works. 2 vols. Blue and Gold. Si. 75. 

John Bowring. 

Matins and Vespers. Blue and Gold. 75 cents. 

Yriarte. 

Fables. Translated by G. H. Devereux, 63 cents. 

Phoebe Cary. 

Poems and Parodies. 75 cents. 

Paul H. Hayne. 

Poems. 1 vol. 16mo. 63 cents. 

Mrs. A. C. Lowell. 

Seed-Grain for Thought and Discussion. 2 vols. 

$1.75. 

Education of Girls. 25 cents. 

G. H. Lewes. 

The Life and Works of Goethe. 2 vols. 16mo. $2.50. 

Lieut. Arnold. 

Oakfield. A Novel. $1.00. 

Henry D. Thoreau. 

Walden : or, Life in the Woods. 1vol. 16mo. $1.00. 

Washington Allston. 

Monaldi, A Tale. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 

Professor E. T. Channing. 

Lectures on Oratory and Rhetoric. 75 cents. 



by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 13 

Dr. Walter Channing. 

A Physician's Vacation. $1.50. 

Mrs. Horace Mann. 

A Physiological Cookery Book. 63 cents. 

Arthur P. Stanley. 

Life and Correspondence op Dr. Arnold. 

Christopher Wordsworth. 

William Wordsworth's Biography. 2 vols. $2.50. 

Henry Taylor. 

Notes from Life. By the Author of " Philip Van Arte- 
velde." 1 vol. 16mo. Cloth. 63 cents. 

Hufeland. 

Art of Prolonging Life. Edited by Erasmus Wilson, 
1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 

Henry Kingsley. 

Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn. A Novel. 

Dr. John C. Warren. 

The Preservation of Health, &c. 1 vol. 38 cents. 

James Prior. 

Life of Edmund Burke. 2 vols. $2.00. 

Joseph T. Buckingham. 

Personal Memoirs and Recollections of Edito- 
rial Life. With Portrait. 2 vols. 16mo. $1.50. 



14 A Lift of Books Publifhed 
Bayle St. John. 

Village Life in Egypt. By the Author of " Purple 

Tints of Paris." 2 vols. 16mo. $1.25. 

Edmund Quincy. 

Wensley : A Story without a Moral. 75 cents. 

Henry Morley. 

Palissy the Potter. By the Author of " How to make 

Home Unhealthy." 2 vols. 16mo. $1.50. 

Goldsmith. 

The Vicar of Wakefield, Illustrated Edition. $3.00. 

C. A. Bartol. 

Church and Congregation. $1.00. 

Mrs. H. G. Otis. 

The Barclays of Boston. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.25. 

Horace Mann. 

Thoughts for a Young Man. 25 cents. 

Addison. 

Sir Roger de Coverley. From the " Spectator." 
75 cents. 

F. W. P. Greenwood. 

Sermons of Consolation. $1.00. 

S. T. Wallis. 

Spain, her Institutions, Politics, and Public Men. 

$1.00. 



by TlCKNOR AND FlELDS. 15 

Theophilus Parsons . 

A Memoir of Chief Justice Theophilus Parsons, 
with Notices of some of his Contemporaries. By his 
Son. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50. 



Dr. William E. Coale. 

Hints on Health. 3d Edition. 63 cents. 

Mrs. Gaskell. 

Ruth. A Novel by the Author of " Mary Barton." Cheap 

Edition. 38 cents. 

Lord Dufferin. 

A Yacht Voyage of 6,000 Miles. $1.00. 

Fanny Kemble. 

Poems. Enlarged Edition. $1.00. 

Owen Meredith. 

Poetical Works. Blue and Gold. 75 cents. 

Arago. 

Biographies of Distinguished Scientific Men. 

16mo. 2 vols. $2.00. 

William Smith. 

Thorndale, or the Conflict of Opinions. $1.25. 



R. H. Dana, Jr. 



To Cuba and Back, a Vacation Voyage, by the Author of 
" Two Years before the Mast." 75 cents. 



16 A Lift of Books Publifhed. 

The Life and Times of Sir Philip Sidney. 1 vol. 

16mo. $1.00. 
Ernest Carroll, or Artist Life in Italy. 1 vol. 

16mo. 88 cents. 
Christmas Hours. By the Author of " The Homeward 

Path," &c. 1 vol. 16mo. 50 cents. 
Memory and Hope. Cloth. $2.00. 

Thalatta ; a Book for the Seaside. 75 cents. 

Warreniana ; a Companion to Bejected Ad- 

dkesses. 63 cents. 
Angel Voices. 38 cents. 
The Boston Book. $1.25. 
Memoir of Robert Wheaton. 1 vol. $1.00. 
Labor and Love : A Tale of English Life. 50 cts. 
The Solitary of Juan Fernandez. By the Author 

of Picciola. 50 cents. 

In Blue and Gold. 

Longfellow's Poetical Works. 2 vols. $1.75. 

do. Prose Works. 2 vols. $1.75. 

Tennyson's Poetical Works. 1 vol. 75 cents. 
Whittier's Poetical Works. 2 vols. $1.50. 
Leigh Hunt's Poetical Works. 2 vols. $1.50. 
Gerald Massey's Poetical Works. 1 vol. 75 cents. 
Mrs. Jameson's Characteristics of Women. 75 cts. 

do. Diary of an Ennuyee 1 vol. 75 cts. 

do. Loves of the Poets. 1 vol. 75 cts. 

do. Sketches of Art, &c. 1 vol. 75 cts. 

do. Studies and Stories. 1 vol. 75 cts. 

do. Italian Painters. 1 vol. 75 cents. 

Owen Meredith's Poems. 1 vol. 75 cents. 
Bowring's Matins and Vespers. 1 vol. 75 cents. 
Lowell's (J. Bussell) Poetical Works. 2 vols. $1.50. 
Percival's Poetical Works. 2 vols. $1.75. 
Motherwell's Poems. 1 vol. 75 cents. 



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